


Dreams of Darkness

by Amusedowl



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, POV Feyre Archeron, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amusedowl/pseuds/Amusedowl
Summary: Feyre has been dragged to a party, and her night seems to get worse and worse. But then she meets the mysterious host, and everything changes





	1. An Evening Out

“Feyre? We need to go, now!” Ianthe called from downstairs.

If Feyre was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure whether to go to this damn party. On the good side, she had the chance to get out of the house for a bit without being monitored by Tamlin. But on the down side: Ianthe. She was one of Tamlin’s childhood friends, and ever since Tamlin proposed to Feyre, Ianthe insisted she helped with the wedding planning, and often invited herself to the house to ‘help’. “After all,” Ianthe had said, “You two are much too busy to sort it all out yourselves.” Feyre wasn’t quite sure what her motive was exactly, as Feyre could sense she was always scheming; but as long as Tamlin was happy, Feyre didn’t have to worry. Ianthe had insisted for them all to go to the party, but Tamlin’s anger had suddenly flared once Ianthe had announced the host and stormed out. He had almost stopped Feyre from going too, but Ianthe had insisted until he gave in.

Loosing a groan, Feyre swiped on some lipstick and headed down the stairs in one of the many dresses Tamlin had bought her. She plastered a smile on her face before she saw Ianthe waiting outside, so she wouldn’t be reprimanded for looking so miserable, and started towards the door before she was halted by a strong arm barring her way.

“I really don’t feel comfortable with you going out tonight, especially looking like that,” Tamlin said, looking her frame up and down with a certain possessiveness in his gaze.

“Come on Tam, it’s only a bit of fun, and I promise I won’t get into too much trouble.” She replied, trying to make the conversation lighter. Tamlin wasn’t having any of it, as he pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips roughly, arms blocking her way of exit on both sides.

He’s just trying to protect you, She told herself. This is just how he shows he cares.

Even though she told herself this time and time again, it wouldn’t stop the nagging feeling inside of her that she would never get used to it. Sometimes, she felt trapped in his embrace. A lot of the time, she didn’t have much choice but to do what he wanted, when he wanted.

Feyre broke the kiss and tried to gently push him away. “Tam, I really need to go, Ianthe’s waiting outside…” She was interrupted by him pressing his lips to hers again.

“I love you Feyre. Don’t get into trouble. Stick with Ianthe and don’t trust the other men there. Don’t trust anyone at all. Many of the people there will be friends with the host, so don’t get involved.”

What am I supposed to do there, then? Feyre almost argued, but she knew that it would be the calling card Tamlin needed to keep her back for the whole night. Instead, she smiled sweetly and promised to do just that, before heading out the door and to the party with Ianthe. Feyre looked back to the manor, and sure enough, Tamlin was watching her leave through the window. She ignored him and carried on the short drive with Ianthe to the party, absentmindedly agreeing to the stream of dialogue pouring out of her mouth about her wedding. She ignored Ianthe and carried on into the night.

**********

When they finally reached the venue, Feyre was seriously considering whether she should end it now and pretend to pass out. But she knew Ianthe would never take no for an answer, and would be able to tell if Feyre was faking an ailment.

You don’t need to punish yourself, she thought. You need to socialise with people who aren’t Tamlin’s coworkers every once in a while.

Ianthe had already worn her down on the way here, prying uncomfortable questions out of her about her and Tamlin. All the while, she had had to keep her anger on an extremely tight leash, and plant a saccharine smile to match Ianthe’s on her face. A few weeks ago, she had lost her patience and snapped at Ianthe, only for her to report to Tamlin that Feyre missed him and was unhappy. Then he had confronted her and tried to ‘please’ her the only way he seemed to know how. Feyre tried to reason with herself that they were only looking out for her and trying to make her happy in the best way they knew, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t true.

They headed through the gates and up the gravel drive. Feyre had to admit, the place was beautiful. The manor had an air of class, with it’s warmly lit paths lining its gardens and water fountain. The manor itself, though, looked elegant, yet warm and inviting, like it was ready to welcome anyone in and let them enjoy themselves. Comparing it to Tamlin’s manor, with the sickly sweet flowers blossoming around the entire house, and clipped formality of everyone inside, this was the perfect place to come for a night out.

“Don’t trust anyone there.” Tamlin had said. She supposed he was right. She didn’t know anyone there, and needed to keep her guard up. She kept her face expressionless as her and Ianthe walked up to the door. She had expected the evening to be relatively formal, but now Feyre cursed herself for not noticing the mini-skirt and revealing top Ianthe had donned, because now she felt incredibly overdressed. The place seemed to be a large, organised house party. Many people had glasses of wine and were chatting in the kitchen and living room, but many of the ladies were definitely not dressed in long pink gowns like Feyre; more like jeans and shirts. She had been hoping to keep to the sides of each room and not get noticed, but she stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Ianthe… I think I need to go home.” She turned to her and held onto her like she was a lifeline, taking back all the thoughts she had had about her previously.

“Nonsense! We only just got here! Follow me and let’s go get some drinks.” Ianthe ignored Feyre’s protests and dragged her into the kitchen, where she poured them both two glasses of wine. Immediately, some long lost friends of Ianthe spotted them and made a big show of introducing each other to Feyre. Before she knew it, her lifeline was being whisked away for what she guessed would be some secret cult ritual between the four of them. She was left alone in a house of people she didn’t know, highly uncomfortable in that damn dress, no way to get home because she didn’t bring any money to get a taxi, and she didn’t know where the hell she was.

She tried to move towards the corner of the room without catching too much attention. The Mother, however, had other ideas for her night. She was halfway across the room when she must have elbowed someone in the side, prompting them to fling their wine all over her dress. Feyre couldn’t say she was angry, because she hated the dress, but she had been humiliated the whole night and her happy facade began to crack. Feyre didn’t bother to stick around or find out who spilled the drink; she only interrupted his apologies and asked where the bathroom was, her cheeks heating. Once she was directed, Feyre discarded her glass and tried to walk away nonchalantly, but ended up running when she felt tears trickle down her face.

**********

Feyre locked herself in the bathroom and began to cry. Why was it that every time someone or something came along in her miserable life it was ruined somehow? She had wanted to try and have a good time tonight, but she just didn’t fit in with anyone. Not even with Tamlin, truly. The endless business meetings she had to attend and play the happy fiancée, the formality of the parties all exhausting. Yes, Tamlin may insist that he’s found the love of his life, but she couldn’t adapt to this new life. What would she do? Would she be able to say “I do.” at the wedding? Mother above. Now the doubt was there, and she knew it would grow.

You need to stop, She told herself. There’s no point in getting upset when you have to stay here the rest of the night.

Feyre sniffed and wiped her eyes. She looked into the mirror and saw what a mess she looked. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were splotchy. All over a spilled drink. The stain on her dress, however, was irreparable. Nevertheless, she went to the sink and tried to scrub the stain. She slid the heavy engagement ring off her finger, so it wouldn’t slide off her finger in the sink and fall down the drain. It would make things so much worse. The large emerald set in the middle seemed to stare at her accusingly. Don’t get into trouble. Feyre fought back another flood of tears and put the ring in her bag. Out of sight, out of mind. She blotted the stain with toilet paper, and eventually opted to just hold her purse in front of the stain for the rest of the night. She looked into the mirror once more and gave herself a quick once-over. She looked disheveled, but it would have to do.

Feyre stepped out of the bathroom to find a small line waiting to go in after her. How long had she been in there? She ignored the embarrassment in the back of her mind and walked outside into the gardens. The cool night air provided her with calm for a few minutes, and she found a bench along one of the paths. She sat for a while, watching the fountain, until she saw three men walk up to her. She could immediately tell that they weren’t going to leave her alone.

“Here for the party? You’re a bit overdressed, aren’t you?” One of them said as he approached.

Feyre tried to ignore them and stood up to leave, but another one of them blocked her path. She was trapped. Panic started rising in her throat.

“We’ve not really had much fun at this party yet. Why don’t you join us?” One man came up from behind her and made a grab for her arm.

She yanked her arm away and stuttered, “N-no, I’m fine thank you. Enjoy your night.” Feyre backed up but the man caught her arm again. She started shaking and her legs went weak. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t happen.

But suddenly, just as she was about to give up hope, she backed into a wall of muscle.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”


	2. Meeting

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Feyre didn’t dare look around. Not when this man could be infinitely worse than the other men stood before her. She didn’t know anyone here, yet here this man was referring to her like a close friend. Feyre just stood there and watched as the men froze.

“I don’t remember seeing any of you on the guest list.” He remarked. The men caught on that they were going to get into trouble the longer they stayed, and quickly bolted out through the gates. Feyre stayed still until she saw the last one disappear, then collapsed onto the ground, shaking. She never should have come. Tamlin would be furious when he found out what had just happened. He wouldn’t let her out of the house again. At least Ianthe, wasn’t here, otherwise she would have had no chance of keeping it from Tamlin.

The stranger bent down to Feyre and rested a hand on her back.

“Are you alright? I don’t know why they were here, the guest list was very specific… Actually, I don’t believe I know you either; your name is?” He asked. He seemed to be trying to get her mind off of what had happened.

Her voice came out croaky as she held back yet another wave of tears that night. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I’m sorry if I’m not on the guest list, I was brought here by my friend who abandoned me, so she probably won’t be on there either. I’m sorry I try not to be this much of a mess usually, it’s just I didn’t want to be here anyway because this isn’t my sort of crowd and my friend left me with no one to talk to and things just haven’t gone well for me tonight.” Feyre knew she was rambling to a person who probably didn’t care but she couldn’t stop.

“Feyre,” He seemed to enjoy how her name sounded as he repeated it. “Well, we’ll have to feed this back to the host and tell him to make his parties more fun.” The stranger seemed to be slightly amused.

“I’ve been told that the host is a dick, yet here I am being dragged to one of his parties.” Feyre realised after she said this that she might actually be in front of the host, because it would make sense he would be the only one to know about the guest list. She froze. Cauldron boil her, what would happen to her now? She’d just insulted the person who’d saved her moments ago. Feyre tried to recover herself. “Wait… I’m so sorry, you’re the host, aren’t you?”

“Rhysand Nox at your service. May I ask… who told you I was a dick?” Laughter coated each of his words, like he didn’t particularly seem to care who hated him, like he was just trying to cheer Feyre up.

“My fiancé, Tamlin Atwell. Do you know him? He seemed pretty irritated that I was coming to yours tonight.”

Rhysand stilled at this response, but responded, slightly clipped, “Yeah, I knew Tamlin back from high school.”

Feyre’s curiosity finally took over. She turned to face Rhysand, and was stunned by his beauty. His inky black hair gleamed in the lamplight and his sharp features gave him an air of sensual grace. His deep blue eyes glimmered in a friendly amusement as she realised she must have been staring at him for a good five seconds. She blinked and tried to restart the conversation. She sat there, stuttering, until Rhysand saw her discomfort and started to speak again.

“I was actually trying to find you to apologise for the terrible mess I made of your dress.” He said, eyeing the large red stain over her front.

“It’s okay,” Feyre replied. “I didn’t really like this dress anyway, and it stood out too much in there anyway, so I was going to stay out here until my friend found me…”

Rhysand chuckled. “Well you can’t stay out here all night, it’s freezing.” He was right; Feyre already had goosebumps along her thin arms, and her teeth started to involuntarily chatter as he made the comment.

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I could bear going back in there in this state.”

“I’m sure I could dig something up for you to borrow. Come on, I can walk in front of you if you would like so no one will see.” He smiled and offered Feyre his hand to help her up. She gladly took it, realising Tamlin may have been wrong about this party. She knew she could trust Rhysand, who showed her kindness within the first minute of meeting her.

**********

He lead Feyre up the stairs, keeping his promise to walk in front of her so to not draw too much attention, and lead her through a maze of corridors into a quieter place of the house. They reached what must have been his bedroom and he showed her in, where he rifled through his drawers. After a few seconds of searching, Rhysand pulled out a black knitted jumper and a pair of pants.

“I’m sorry about the sizing, but I hope you don’t mind borrowing some of my stuff.” He said, handing the bundle to Feyre. “I’ll find you some old shoes to wear.”

With that, he left and quietly clicked the door behind him. Feyre undressed and quickly put on the clothes Rhysand had given her.

 _That can’t be right._  Feyre thought. She had looked down at herself and gaped at how much the clothes swamped her frame. She’d observed that Rhysand was a few inches taller than her and better built, but the amount of fabric pooling around her was ridiculous. She knew that she was slim anyway and had still lost a bit of weight in the past few months, but how much? That must have been why Tamlin had insisted his friend, Alis should fix the top she bought that fit her perfectly when she purchased it, a couple of weeks later. Frankly, Feyre was horrified. To stop herself from thinking about it, she focused on loosening her hair from it’s formal bun and combed it with her fingers. Perhaps it would help in hiding her shoulders that kept appearing from the sagging fabric every time she moved.

Feyre heard a quiet tap on the door, and she called for Rhysand to come in. As he did, he stopped his apology mid sentence. “I’m not sure what size shoe you are, but these should hopefully-.” He seemed to realise the exact same thing as she had moments ago. An odd look crossed his face in a split second, but he continued to walk towards her and gave her the pumps he had retrieved.

“Umm… by any chance do you have a belt?” Feyre asked quietly, looking down at the pants barely clinging to her hips.

“Of course.” Rhysand walked over to his drawers to find one.

“So.. Do you hold a lot of these parties?” Feyre said, trying to make the silence in the room less awkward.

“A fair few, but usually I don’t invite this many people. They’re eating me out of house and home.” He chuckled. He found a suitable belt and handed it to her. While she wrapped it around herself, Feyre noticed the hesitance in his eyes, until he asked, “ Would you like to join me and my friends for the rest of the night? I’m guessing that if your friend wanted to find you, she would have called  by now.” Feyre realised he was right. It must have been over an hour since she last saw Ianthe, and she hadn’t felt her purse buzz once. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

“If you and your friends wouldn’t mind, I think that would be amazing.” She found herself saying. She was so glad that she had finally found a person who seemed down to earth and friendly towards her, not talking at her with all the formalities under the sun.

Rhysand smiled at her, and it was the brightest thing Feyre had seen in months. “Come on then, I’m going to introduce you to my ‘Inner Circle’.” He offered her his hand again, and once again, she took it.


	3. Rhys

Rhysand first noticed her when she knocked his drink out of his hand. When he looked around, he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed her as soon as she had walked in the room. Not because of the over-the-top dress she was wearing, but because of her undeniable beauty. Her golden-brown hair was twirled into an intricate bun , and her grey-blue eyes pierced the floor as she didn’t dare face him. He didn’t know her, and she definitely wouldn’t show him any interest if this incident had anything to do with it, yet he immediately wanted to know more about her.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise there was someone behind me and-” Rhysand started. Her voice was quiet, but it was clear and cut through the chatter around them.

“I’m sorry, do you know where the bathrooms are please?” She asked. The woman looked like she was barely keeping it together right now, and Rhysand wished that he could somehow console her, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it with a red stain down her expensive gown in the middle of a crowded room. He was also too stunned by the woman’s careful elegance that she still held when most women would start breaking down then and there, that he could do nothing but give her the directions she needed. He started to ask her whether she needed anything to change into, because he felt awful, but she muttered a quick “Thank you.” and left. Rhysand watched her walk around the corner. She reached half-way across the room before her pace quickened until she reached a run, politely shoving past people until she disappeared from his sight. 

He felt terrible. She hadn’t shouted at him, and that almost made it worse. He was used to people shouting at him after his childhood, so someone not making a big deal out of things made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful woman who came into his life so fleetingly, only to leave before he could properly meet her. Rhysand couldn’t stop thinking about her, and after 10 minutes of absentmindedly chatting to some of his guests he politely excused himself. It felt like fate that they should have met. Rhysand walked around the house, trying to find her.

**********

It must have been at least half an hour before he decided to get some fresh air. Most people were inside, shying away from the chill air, yet she still wasn’t there. Personally, he liked the cool wind blowing across his face, so didn’t mind escaping the crowd for a while.

He walked through the twisting paths in his garden, wondering where the woman may have gone. Suddenly, he thought he heard a conversation on the other side of a hedge. He picked out the voices of at least two men and… yes, there was a woman there, but she didn’t seem to know the men, her voice had a worried edge to it. Rhysand immediately recognised it as the woman’s voice from before. He sprinted around the maze of paths, eager to find her in time, because the men didn’t sound friendly.

He finally reached the edge of the path, but forced himself to stop and saunter around. The sight he saw as he turned the corner horrified him. Three towering men surrounded the woman like wolves, like she was their next kill. He could tell from the distance he was away from her she was visibly shaking. He lost his control and strode over to her, just as she backed away from them and unwittingly into him.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He said to the woman as she stilled against his body, willing utter calm into his voice. Inside he was raging. How dare these strangers trespass at this party and intend to cause such pain to his guests? Although, technically he was pretty sure the woman shouldn’t be here either, but she had been causing no harm, so she was welcome.

“I don’t remember seeing any of you on the guest list.” Rhysand remarked, letting enough bite into his voice while remaining the ever-graceful gentleman. Luckily, the intruders caught on to the threat and scuttled off. Thank the Mother, he didn’t want things to get nasty tonight.

The woman fell to the floor, and Rhysand couldn’t help but bend down and offer a comforting hand on her back. He tried to take her mind off of it and asked her name. 

“Feyre.” The name rolled off his tongue, and he savoured the sound each syllable made. He pressed on and found out about why she was here when she so obviously wasn’t enjoying herself. When he found out that she was engaged to Tamlin, his world paused for a moment. That’s why she was so miserable. Rhysand hated Tamlin to the core, especially after the events in his last year in high school. However, he kept his features schooled, even though Feyre hadn’t faced him yet. Her golden-brown hair stuck out of her intricate bun in odd places, showing exactly how rough of a night she had been through. If she went back to Tamlin in this state tonight, who knows what he would make of it? One thing for sure, Rhysand knew Tamlin would be furious.

Rhysand knew that he needed to get Feyre out of the cold, and out of that mess of a dress, so he offered to find her a change of clothes. He only realised after he took Feyre’s hand that Mor had moved out a month ago, meaning that only his clothes that would almost definitely be a few sizes too big remained. Shit. He didn’t know whether she would appreciate this gesture when she found this out or not.

 _Stop overthinking, Rhys._ He told himself. _You aren’t usually this nervous around people, what’s wrong with you?_ Maybe he had just had too much to drink too quickly, because the flutter in his stomach grew with every passing second.

**********

When they both found his bedroom, he led Feyre inside and rifled through his drawers to find something as small as possible for her to wear. He also forgot in that moment that when Mor had stayed here, she insisted he do a clean out of his wardrobe every season, so he had thrown out his old shirt that had shrunk in the wash. Eventually, he pulled out his old black jumper, and a brown pair of jeans that didn’t match, but were the smallest he had. He gave them to her, and excused himself to find her shoes, another near impossible task as he would most likely have much bigger feet than her. He made his way back through a small throng of party-goers ten minutes later and knocked on the door. A small “Come in.” came from the other side and he opened the door. 

He knew the clothes he gave her were a  _couple_ of sizes too big, but he looked at Feyre and was quietly horrified. Rhysand could have placed a bet that a few months ago, Feyre was slim, but would have been able to fill out his clothes fairly well. However, now it looked like she had shrunk like in Alice in Wonderland. The jumper barely hung on her shoulders, and the pants were on their way to pooling at her ankles. Perhaps Rhysand hadn’t noticed because of the volume the silly frills decorating her dress, giving the sense of her being healthy. He realised he’d let the horror show on his face, and willed his features to remain neutral.

Before he could ask himself, Feyre asked whether he could lend her a belt. It looked like this change of clothes had been a wake up call for her too. He immediately searched for a belt to give her. She had to pull the top of the trousers up past her stomach, and Rhysand noticed that the belt almost wrapped itself around her waist twice. He debated whether to ask her if she would like to talk to him and his friends for the rest of the night, just to make sure she was okay and had at least a bit of fun here.

 _Why would anybody want to stay with you?_  Asked a small voice in his head.

_It doesn’t look like she has much more to do here, you might as well ask her now rather than never seeing her again. You need to make sure she’ll be alright._

“Would you like to join me and my friends for the rest of the night? I’m guessing that if your friend wanted to find you, she would have called by now.” Rhysand asked.

Her contemplated for a moment, then her face lit up in a grin. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“If you and your friends wouldn’t mind, I think that would be amazing.” 

Then it was his time to smile. She wanted to get to know him. Thank the Mother. Rhysand smiled and offered his hand again.


	4. The Inner Circle

“Rhys! Who’s this with you?” A blonde haired woman asked Rhysand with a smirk. Feyre was nervous to meet Rhysand’s friends, as it had been a while since she had had to have a normal conversation with someone. The woman was dressed in a short, crimson dress and heels, and had beautifully curled blonde hair. Normally, Feyre was weary of overly confident people, but it was something in the woman’s smile that made Feyre feel at ease.

“Feyre, this is my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet Feyre.” Rhysand said. Feyre quaintly held out her hand for Mor to shake, but before she knew it, she was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. She was extremely confused. Unless she was extremely drunk, Mor had no reason to hug her so tight, like they were already close friends. She didn’t mind, but it was just odd if she did that to everyone she met.

“Feyre! Welcome to the Inner Circle!” Mor exclaimed. Feyre was even more confused. Mor must have saw the confusion on her face, as she added, “Rhys doesn’t usually introduce us to many of his acquaintances unless they’re actually his close friends, and all of his close friends tend to be in the Inner CIrcle.” Mor chuckled. Feyre was perplexed at this statement. She had known Rhysand for no longer than an hour, and he possibly considered her as a close friend? She let the questions slide; she could ask them later. 

Although she was trying to not look confused or nervous, a man appeared from behind Mor and grinned at her. He had rugged features, but he was still handsome. His long hair fell to his shoulders, and he wore a navy blue shirt that accentuated his muscles.

“Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” He said, flashing a smile at her. “I’m Cassian, Rhys’ best and oldest friend.”

Rhysand snorted. “Oldest friend, but more annoying than anything.”

“Oi! That’s no way to treat your best friend!” Cassian exclaimed, laughter in his eyes. “So Feyre, what do you do?” 

“I moved here for my scholarship in art three years ago, and hoped to open my own art gallery. But until recently I was working in the Prythian Library.”

“Hoped?”

“Uh.. yeah. But I haven’t collected enough money to open a studio yet.” Feyre answered. She looked over to Rhysand, and a hint of suspicion flickered in his eyes. It was like he could read her like an open book. Nevertheless, he didn’t question it, for which she was eternally grateful.

“So, how about you?” Feyre asked.

Mor answered. “I opened the boutique on Main Street a few weeks ago, and it’s going really well.”

“The one with the fluffy grey jumper in the window? I was planning to order it for myself next week! And—“ Feyre knew she’d slipped up. She’d said she had no money not 30 seconds ago then just told them that she was going to one of the most expensive boutiques in town (Thank the Mother they hadn’t recognised her in the dress, at least.) … it was very obvious to the group that she was hiding things now, and they looked at her with a sort of confusion, but Mor carried on the conversation.

“Oh! Well you’re welcome to drop by any time and have a chat with me,” Mor smiled. “What other sorts of clothes do you like? We’ll have to arrange a day and we can have fun picking you an outfit!”

Mor sounded so genuine, like she was actually excited to know Feyre. She knew she had found a friend in this ‘Inner Circle’. Feyre grinned and nodded.

Then, another man materialised behind Mor, with more refined features than Cassian’s, and had a quiet aura about him. His brown eyes scanned the scene before him, and lay upon Feyre, assessing. 

“Hi, I’m Feyre. Apparently I’ve been adopted into the Inner Circle, have you been too?” She asked, smiling. 

“Good evening Feyre, it’s lovely to meet you. My name’s Azriel.” He said. He didn’t seem to want to add anything else, but it wasn’t because he didn’t like Feyre; in fact, he had projected a small, warm smile towards her. She guessed he just didn’t like talking too much.

Before they could restart the conversation again, a woman with poker-straight, jet-black hair walked up behind Cassian and Azriel, and even as they towered over her, they parted for her as her commanding eyes lay upon both of them. If she could make two grown men move that quickly, would Feyre pass as suitable for the Circle in her eyes?

Before Feyre could politely introduce herself, the woman said, “And who is this Rhysand?” Her eyes pierced Feyre.

“Amren, be nice; this is Feyre. She has been here at the party this evening.” Rhysand replied.

“Hmm…” Amren watched her for a few more seconds, and Feyre couldn’t help but shift slightly under her gaze. “Another added to our group. You’ll be a good addition to our ranks.” She announced. Feyre almost sagged in relief.

“Anyone else I can meet?” Feyre joked.

**********

The six of them had laughed and chatted the whole night away. Feyre felt like she had finally found some real friends, not fake ones who had saccharine smiles, like Ianthe. It must have been many hours and plenty of unspilled drinks later when the last of the party guests had left. They resigned themselves into the spacious living room, still making jokes and telling each other about themselves.

Feyre only realised the text sent to her phone when she checked for the time. The text was sent from Ianthe an hour ago, when the majority of guests had left.

_Hey babe, left with my friends, couldn’t find you so assumed you’d left anyway xxxx_

The cheek she had had, leaving her in a crowd by herself to slink away with her another set of acquaintances, not truly caring about what happened to her. If Tamlin found out that Ianthe had left her… Feyre immediately forgot her worries when Mor such a funny joke that Cassian had wine spraying out of his nose. He made a terrible mess of his clothes, just like Feyre earlier. How ridiculous of her to be so upset about that dress… why had she been so upset before? She could only remember the main events of the evening and being with Rhys and the others.

The night had gone from horrifying to spectacular. She hadn’t had a night like this for ages. Even though she had loosened up around the others quickly, she found herself talking to Rhys for most of the evening. He had the most interesting stories to tell, and always had a quip to make her laugh. Before tonight, she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed genuinely. Yet here this man was, charming and inspiring. Had she had a few too many to drink, or was Rhys even more handsome when he was smiling at her? His deep blue eyes had twinkled whenever she spoke the whole evening. His smile had also grown more mischievous.

The night wore on even further, and she wanted to stay for longer and hear about the time when Cassian got chased by a rogue peacock at the zoo, but the back of Feyre’s mind ordered her to get home. “Rhysssie… I need to get home…” Feyre slurred, a smile playing on her lips as his head turned.

Mor overheard this and announced, “You can’t leave without our numbers! You’re gonna have to keep in contact now! We’ve become such good friends!”

Feyre agreed with Mor and gave her her phone to add the numbers in of the Inner Circle. Mor typed them into her phone in record time and insisted they all had a contact photo. Mor steadied her swaying body and managed to find what she thought was her best angle in her daze and snapped herself with a wide, goofy grin. 

“OOH, ME! ME! ME!” Cried a plastered Cassian. He snatched the phone out of Mor’s hand, and made the best duck pout Feyre had seen. Cassian shoved the phone in Azriel’s face and snapped his unimpressed face. Next on his photography duties, he caught Amren mid-snarl. Finally, he turned to Rhys. “Strike a poseee!” He exclaimed. Feyre didn’t know what made her do it – maybe the wine or the mischief radiating from Cassian – but she ran up to Rhys and slapped a huge kiss on the side of his cheek, just as the camera flashed. She let out a loud cackle at Rhys’ dumbfounded face when she turned to him. The rest of the group joined her and howled with laughter at his wide eyes and the small grin starting to develop on his face.

Then, she suddenly felt so tired. Rhys looked over at her, eyes half-lidded too. In fact, everyone, even Amren, looked half dead, but happy. He seemed to understand the message and signaled to all of them to start ending the story. Rhys gently pulled her to the side. 

“I would drive you home, but I’m afraid I’m a bit too drunk to do that. I can ring for a taxi?” He asked.

Oh yeah, Feyre needed to get home, but her brain was switching off. Her eyes drooped further. “I hope you don’t mind, but actually, I think I’ll fall asleep before it getsss here. Could I sleep on the couch for tonight?” Feyre giggled; she supposed it was the morning now, not the night.

“Well, I have a spare bedroom, if you would like to use that.” Rhys smiled.

“I would like that verrry much.”

Deciding to wrap it up for the night, Feyre heard Rhys shout to the others to get out unless they wanted to stay over. She heard cries of outrage from Cassian and Mor before she leaned against Rhys’ waiting shoulder and closed her eyes.

**********

She briefly awoke to Rhys laying her down on a plush bed, as gently as he could in his daze, barely conscious himself. He gathered the blankets and tucked them around her body with care.

The fluffy pillows were calling Feyre to sleep, but before she closed her eyes again, she said, “Rhys, thank you for a truuuly wonderful night.”

She saw him smile in the darkness. “You’re very welcome Feyre, I had a lovely time too.”

Her eyes closed.

“Thank you for bringing a bit of light back into my life again. Sleep well, Feyre.” Rhys said, the words blurting out of his mouth, but Feyre was already asleep. He left, and the door clicked shut quietly behind him.


	5. Morning

Feyre was awoken by the bright light of the mid-afternoon sun hitting her face. Her eyes stung for a moment while they adjusted to her tired and hungover state. She could barely think over the pounding in her head. She vaguely remembered being carried up a set off stairs by a warm, well-built man, and eventually remembered that person was Rhysand, the man who had spilled the drink on her the night before, yet had become great friends over the course of a few hours with his other close friends. The bed felt too luxurious to peel herself out of, yet Feyre hauled herself off the mattress, groaning at the movement. She was still in her clothes from the night before. Well, Rhys’ clothes. 

She found her way to the stairs through her fogged mind, and descended to look for the kitchen. She needed water. Lots and lots of water. Her feet padded along the smooth floors silently, while her brain seemed to be hammering its way out of her skull. She finally located the kitchen, and entered to see Rhys sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands. He looked like he felt the same as Feyre. When he realised Feyre had joined him, his head slowly raised as he mustered the brightest smile he looked like he could manage.

“Feyre! How lovely it is to see you finally come downstairs.” He smirked. “ I was just about to do some bacon; would you like some?”

Feyre didn’t have to try and form words, as the answering rumble from her stomach was enough. Feyre blushed a bit, knowing she was probably in the way now. But Rhys seemed to know exactly what was going on in her head at that moment, because he added, “Don’t worry, you can stay here for as long as you want.”

He turned to start preparing the food, and all Feyre could do was sit in his vacant spot and do the same as he had done a minute ago, cradle her head until the headache went away. She groaned. She shouldn’t have had that much alcohol in one go. Mother knew how long it had been since she had been out with friends and drank that amount before.

“So, can you remember anything from last night?” Rhys asked, amusement lacing his words when he heard her sigh. He sounded fairly rough himself.

“Yes, but my head is going to explode if I focus on anything” Feyre ground out. 

He continued to make their breakfast in a comfortable quiet, and Feyre fetched herself a glass of water. A throb of pain sliced through her head, and she staggered. Rhys was there to catch her before she even knew she was falling.

“Are you okay?” He chuckled, but she looked up and saw a flash of concern in his features.

She grunted in response, and sat back down for another five minutes before Rhys served breakfast. Bearing in mind he had said he was just cooking bacon, and that’s all he had himself, her plate was gigantic. Not only was there a pile of bacon, but the rest of an English breakfast: tomatoes, toast, baked beans, sausages and hash browns. She was dumbfounded by the sheer amount of food on the plate.

“Thought you might need a few extra bits and pieces; you look like you need it more than me.” Rhys said. Feyre was sure he didn’t mean it that way directly, but she involuntarily looked down at the sagging clothes around her body. But she couldn’t find it in her to care too much at the moment, not when she was happy for once and she had this mountain of food to eat. She immediately started to wolf it down, not caring about manners apart from a small “Thank you”. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before she had cleared the plate. She had to admit, Rhys was an amazing cook. He looked over at her, surprised at how quickly she had eaten it. 

Feyre felt bloated but content. “ Can I have a shower? I probably smell terrible.” She laughed. Rhys guided her back up the stairs and towards the bathroom. He told her he’d find her some more clothes and left her to wash.

**********

Feyre made her way back down stairs a short while later, dressed in a navy blue jumper and black pants, similar to what she was given yesterday. She walked around the corner to the living room, head still hurting and not nearly ready to let her go back to her normal life yet, when she heard a quiet discussion taking place.

“What is she going to do? He’s called her 34 times in just the past half hour! Something’s not right there.” Feyre heard Mor say.

“Mor, it isn’t our place to judge her. She’ll be fine.” Rhys argued, but Feyre could tell he agreed with her by his tired voice. “We shouldn’t be looking at her phone anyway.”

“Have you seen how thin she is? That isn’t some sort of health programme she’s on! You remember how I looked after Eris…” Mor’s voice rose. “And it’s been pretty damn hard not to read it when it is constantly going off like a broken alarm clock!”

“I know what he’s like, Mor, but if she has chosen to be with him, we have to respect that, whether or not he hates us. We can’t turn her against him.”

Feyre walked into the living room. Rhys and Mor realised by the confused look on her face that she’d heard part of their conversation. She could see they were furiously backpedaling.

“Feyre, uhm.. we’re really sorry but you left your phone down here last night and it wouldn’t stop ringing so we had to see who it was.” Rhys explained.

“Oh. It’s okay, don’t worry.” Feyre replied. She was used to it. However, she was starting to get more worried about the person calling. “Do you mind if I just go and call back?” 

“Not at all.” Mor smiled. There was something pained in Mor’s expression though, like she didn’t want Feyre to leave. 

She dialed Tamlin’s number, not daring to look at how many calls had been missed. He picked up on the first tone. 

“Get back home, now.” He hissed.

“Tam, I–” She started, but he had already hung up. Shit.

She returned to Rhys and Mor in the living room. She knew they saw the dread in her eyes, because Rhys’ brows furrowed in concern and he asked, “Would you like me to phone a taxi?” She nodded. His concern for her melted her heart in that moment. He knew something about Tamlin that she didn’t, and still put what she wanted to do over his own worry for her; something she just realised Tamlin would never do.

He left to retrieve his phone, and that left Feyre and Mor sat in the living room.

“Are you alright?” Mor asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Feyre replied, her eyes haunted with the possibilities of what would happen when she got back.

Mor didn’t push the subject any further. “I heard about your dress,” She laughed. “I can get the stain out if you want, there’s a really nice cleaner called Andromache who I know really well. She is on the Main Street as well.”

“That would be great, thanks Mor.” Feyre drew up a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her voice rang hollow.

Mor didn’t quite know how to react. She didn’t draw any more attention to the building problem, but didn’t start talking to Feyre about anything else, because Mor knew Feyre wouldn’t want to make small talk. They sat in silence until the taxi arrived. Feyre wanted to say goodbye to the others.

“They left last night, it was just me and you who stayed overnight.” Mor smiled sadly. “I’ll tell them you said bye. Keep in touch!” She gave Feyre a tight hug, before she let her climb into the taxi. 

Rhys came out through the door. “Going before you say goodbye to me?” Rhys asked, letting humour fall into his tone. “I’m sorry again about the dress, but I’m glad I did spill my drink, because I wouldn’t have met you.” He blushed at this small confession, but Feyre agreed, allowing a small smile onto her face.

“I think that too, Rhys. Thank you both for a great night, I’ve not had that much fun in a long time.” She admitted. “I’ll phone you when I get home so you have my number.” She closed the taxi door, and started to drive off. She looked back to the house, and Rhys and Mor were waving at her. She waved back.

**********

She paid the taxi driver with the money Rhys had given her, and stood outside of the house. Dread filled her stomach. She rallied all of her bravery and walked inside to face Tamlin’s questions.

She went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Anything to calm her nerves and dull headache. But Tamlin was already there, back facing her. 

“Where have you been?” he said, his voice deadly calm. She already knew this wasn’t going to end well, but this tone he used meant he was barely containing himself.

“Tam, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was, Ianthe left me at the party and–”

“Oh, so you’re blaming Ianthe now? She told me that she had messaged you all night to find where you were, and you ignored her. I told you to stick with her, but you couldn’t even obey that.” 

That bitch. Feyre thought. She couldn’t have cared less about what happened to Feyre, and she had just gotten Feyre into more trouble. Her hands started to shake. She couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t be more incriminating in Tamlin’s eyes.

“Do you realise how worried I was about where you were? All you needed to do was phone, and don’t start making any more excuses.” Tamlin’s temper was rising. 

“Tam, I was having fun at the party and Ianthe had gone with the money to get a taxi, so I stayed over at a friend’s house.” She tried to tell the truth, hoping he would take it without getting even worse. It was the wrong thing to say.

“And who was your friend?” He asked, honing in on anything to justify himself.

“A person at the party.” Feyre replied. Don’t trust anyone at all, Tamlin had said. If she elaborated on who specifically, he would be furious.

He changed his tactic. “Give me your phone.” He ordered, still facing away from her. Feyre walked up to him timidly and handed him her phone. He knew her passcode and put it in, and clicked her contacts. Shit. Shit. Shit. He was going to find The Inner Circle. 

“Who are Cassian and Azriel…” Then Tamlin scrolled to Rhys’ contact. Feyre knew that Rhys and Tamlin had some bad blood from years before. She also knew he would see the contact photo. Shit. 

“What did you do with Rhysand, Feyre?” Tamlin had gone back to his icy calm; Feyre knew this happened before the storm.

“Tam, you don’t understand–” She started, trying to explain. Please, let me explain. She prayed to the Cauldron.

“What did you do with him?”

“Nothing, I promise, Tam. I love you.” She pleaded. She hated herself for begging.

He finally turned to face her, and froze. He looked her up and down. They weren’t her clothes. They were another man’s. His eyes then went straight to her finger, where her ring was missing. Feyre realised she forgot to put it back on last night. 

That was when Tamlin exploded.

**********

A few moments later, she woke on the floor, and her body was in agony. 

“You’re nobody else’s; you’re mine.” Tamlin hissed viciously into her ear. He stormed out of the room, and Feyre fell back into a black void.


	6. Escape

The crisp air of November had settled, and it had been weeks since Feyre had been in contact with any of the Inner Circle. While she was knocked out, Tamlin had deleted their contacts from her phone in rage. She had wondered for a while why they hadn’t deigned to phone her either, but she realised that they forgot to put her number into their contacts, so they were still waiting for a message from her. She didn’t think she’d ever see them again, seen as she was escorted everywhere by either Tamlin, Ianthe or Lucien. Hours later, when Feyre had woken up, Tamlin was cradling her, and repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She couldn’t find it in herself to care, not after what he had done to her. There had been bruises over her arms from where he had grabbed her, and she must have careened into the kitchen table as she passed out, because her back had ached for a week afterward. Her wrist had healed, but it still twinged when she turned it.

She was walking down the Main Street with Lucien that day, wrapped in a pink silk scarf that Tamlin had bought her and insisted she should wear it every day. She hated it. She noticed more and more how he controlled every aspect of her life, from what she wore, to who she saw, when she went out. He never asked whether she would like to be taken to bed, he just grabbed her and did what he liked. She forced the memories out of her head. It was one of the only times he let her out of the house now; she needed to enjoy it. Lucien walked by her silently. Feyre knew he had seen the bruises a few days later, but he decided to keep silent. She knew he wanted to help deep down, but his loyalty remained with Tamlin. She was grateful that he had bought her bruising cream as a kind gesture, though. Lucien’s job that day was to keep an eye on Feyre, to make sure she didn’t meet anyone (she knew Tamlin had somehow found out Mor owned the boutique, so was wary about her seeing anyone she might recognise around town). Tamlin would then meet them for lunch, then they would go back to the house. 

Feyre and Lucien had walked up and down the row of shops twice, but Feyre didn’t feel like going in any of them. What was the point in buying nice clothes when she couldn’t go out in them, and when she would be swamped in them within a week? What was the point in buying muffins and cakes from the bakery when she would bring them back up ten minutes later? To end their misery in the chilly air, she walked into a clothes shop. It didn’t have any clothes nearly as nice as the one’s at Mor’s boutique, but she wasn’t allowed to shop in there anymore. Her eyes scanned over the garments without really looking. Lucien stood across at the entrance of the shop, the furthest he was allowed to be away from her under Tamlin’s order.

She gave up pretending to look, and they decided to get to the cafe early.  _The timing will be fine._  Feyre thought _._ Maybe she could get out before Tamlin got there. 

Lucien had flat-out refused to go to the formal restaurant Tamlin had booked for light lunch, on behalf of Feyre. It had earned him a growl and a death-stare from Tamlin, but she knew Lucien wanted to try and help her in any way he could within reason. They entered the cafe and sat near the back, away from the window, lest Tamlin be seen in such a drab place. Feyre didn’t mind this place. When she was still studying for her art scholarship, she always used to come in here and read. She also knew there was a back exit. Her plan

“Lucien, I’m going to the toilet.” Feyre said, breaking their awkward silence.

“Okay, Tam will be here soon.” Lucien replied. He was gently warning her not to be away for too long, because if Tamlin saw she wasn’t with Lucien, he would freak out. She felt sorry for what Lucien would soon go through at her hands from Tamlin’s rage, but if he had stood up to him with her, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation.

She tried to walk as calmly as she could around the corner to the corridor to the toilets. And the exit. Before anyone else saw her, she slipped through the door and into the back street. Feyre was almost free. She walked to the end of the back street that led her back to Main Street and turned the corner. To be met with a familiar wall of muscle.

**********

Rhys was on his way to meet Mor on her lunch break, lost in thought. Feyre hadn’t called in weeks, even though she had promised to call when she got home. He was getting increasingly worried, but he had no other way to contact her. They had all been relying on her to message them first, as they didn’t put her contact into their phones. He felt hopeless. Who knows what Tamlin could have done with her in his worry about where she had been?

He became so entangled in his thoughts, he didn’t realise the woman come out of the back street until they both collided. He looked up, out of his daze, and he would have thought he was hallucinating, but Feyre looked so different he knew his mind wouldn’t have warped her image in such a way. She looked like Feyre, but wrong. She had shrunk to be impossibly smaller than she had been when he first saw her, and her face was skin pulled over a series of harsh lines. But her eyes. They looked hollow, void of emotion.

“Feyre?” Rhys gasped. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” He couldn’t stop some of the hurt he was feeling slip into his words.

“I’m so sorry Rhys, I’m so sorry.” Feyre looked like she was fighting a war in her mind. What had Tamlin done to her? She finally decided to talk. “Tam… he got mad… He found the contacts in my phone and deleted them.”

“You could have gone into Mor’s boutique to say hello.” He argued desperately.

“I- I don’t know how, but Tamlin found out Mor is the owner, and forbid me to go there. I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to find you, but he hasn’t let me out of his control.” Feyre’s lip quivered, and Rhys decided it wouldn’t be so bad to go to jail for murdering Tamlin if it made Feyre happy.

“Feyre,  _I’m_  sorry. I should have tried to find you-”

“But I’ve just got out, Rhys. Lucien is still waiting for me in the cafe, and Tamlin’s coming. Soon. Please, Rhys, can I stay at your house for a few days? I need to be away from him for a while, if not, for the rest of my life.”

“ _Yes_ , of course, Feyre. You can stay for as long as you want. Come with me now.” Rhys was so happy to finally know Feyre was going to be okay. Away from the clutches of that bastard, for a few days, at least. But then a tall figure appeared behind Feyre, and grabbed her arm.

“ _What the fuck are you doing with Feyre, you son of a bitch?”_  

**********

Feyre had been so shocked to finally see Rhys, she hadn’t heard the footsteps behind her and found herself in the iron grip of Tamlin.  _Shit._

Rhys almost immediately lunged for Tamlin, a snarl forming on his lips. Feyre knew he was defending her, but she didn’t want him to start a fight on the street. She stuck out her arms to halt both men. As quick as Rhys’ attack had started, it had stopped, respecting Feyre’s wishes. Tamlin however, carried on. She had to bring her other arm around to him, and use all of her remaining strength to shove him away.

“Oh, so you’re defending  _him_ now?” Tamlin roared. He caught Feyre’s arm again and dragged her away. “Don’t talk to her ever again. She’s _mine_!” He screamed at Rhys.

“Don’t you realise what you’re doing to her?” Rhys matched Tamlin’s roar as he dragged her down the street. “You’re  _killing_ her!”

Feyre saw Rhys’ self-control snap when Tamlin twisted her arm a bit too far and she winced. He started to run down the street towards her, rage twisting his features. But it was too late. Tamlin had shoved her in his car waiting at the end of the street. Feyre watched him chase the moving car, but he eventually fell too far behind. A tear slipped from Feyre’s eye. Being taken away again didn’t make her feel hopelessness. It made her feel rage.

**********

Feyre was locked in the single spare bedroom in the house. She had had enough. She had once loved Tamlin, but ever since they became engaged, he had changed into something  _wrong._ That night, he had ordered Lucien to come over and explain the meaning of Feyre being out of his sight. Lucien had tried to explain, but Tamlin had none of it. Feyre had heard snarling, roaring, cries of pain and the breaking of furniture. Her heart ached for Lucien, who was torn between helping both of them. He had tried to make her life a bit better. It might not have been much, but Feyre was so desperate that anything he did for her made him a friend in her eyes. But now, she had to leave him. Things were beginning to quieten down in the room beneath her, so she needed to move quick. She didn’t leave a note for Tamlin; he didn’t deserve one.

Feyre found the spare sewing kit in the drawer, and pulled out the scissors. Next, she tore the duvet cover off and cut it into thick strips. She quickly tied them together and hung it out of the window. She tied one end to the bedpost and sat on the window ledge. She took a deep breath, held the strip and eased herself out of the window. Feyre held onto her makeshift rope for dear life, and began to slide down the side of the house. What the movies didn’t show however, was the extremely flimsy material didn’t hold for very long. Either the material ripped or the knots became untied, but Feyre was falling with a loose piece of rope seconds later. Right into the rose bushes lining the entire house. 

She hit the ground awkwardly and had the breath knocked out of her. She had landed on her right arm and heard a loud _‘snap’_ pierce the chilled air. She screamed. She knew she had to get up. She lay there for another couple of seconds, then hauled herself up on her good arm. There was about 100 metres of garden she had to run over before she had any hope of escaping out the gate. Feyre started to limp towards the gate, her muscles already aching from the fall. 

She was about halfway across the grass when she heard a roar coming from the open bedroom window. “FEYRE!” Tamlin must have finally finished beating up Lucien. Now he would be coming for her. 

Adrenaline kicking in, Feyre veered away from the gate he would inevitably chase her down, and ran into the surrounding woods. She hid behind a tree, cradling her wrecked arm, and watched Tamlin sprint out of the battered house and down the road to find her.

She must have waited about ten minutes before she felt safe enough to emerge from the trees. She didn’t slow down though. She ran through the gate, and away from her prison.

Suddenly, Feyre stopped. Where was she going? She didn’t know the way to Rhys’ house; she had been driven there that night. She would have to hope Mor’s boutique was still open for the night.

Feyre finally reached Main Street half an hour later, body screaming in agony. Thank the Mother it wasn’t busy this late at night. People would wonder why a woman with cuts all over her face, a broken arm and rips all over her clothes was walking down the middle of the street. After a few minutes of limping down the street, Feyre found herself at the boutique. To find the shop closed up early for the night. She cried out in misery. Where would she go now? 

She looked up and down the street at the shops still open. Then, her eyes lay upon ‘Andromache’s Laundrette’. 

 _‘There’s a really nice cleaner called Andromache who I know really well.’_ Mor had told her. Perhaps Feyre could ask Andromache to call Mor.

She limped up to the door, and shouldered it open. The door jingled and announced her arrival to the young woman behind the counter.

“Are you Andromache?” Feyre blurted, barely keeping it together

The poor woman gaped at her. “Yes- are you alright? Would you like me to get you anything?” Andromache didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

“Please can you ring Mor? Can you tell her Feyre is here?” Feyre asked. Her exhaustion finally caught up to her, and she started to cry. She had escaped Tamlin, and she was going to be okay.


	7. Safe

Feyre sat behind the counter, sipping a cup of tea that Andromache had brewed her. Her broken arm was in agony, but she could do nothing else but cradle it with an ice pack, and wait for Mor. Poor Andromache didn’t know what to do to help Feyre, apart from retrieve a blanket from her apartment upstairs and ask if she needed anything. Feyre was happy to just sit there and think about the last few weeks, to take her mind off the throbbing on her right side.

Feyre had heard about the analogy about the frog in boiling water, where the frog will jump out of the cooking pot if put into boiling water straight away, but will boil to death if the water is slowly heated up. What she hadn’t realised, however, was that she had been the frog, and Tamlin had been the water.  She had been wasting away into nothing, bit by bit, because of Tamlin’s watchful eye. Thank the Mother she had been dragged to that party weeks ago and met the Inner Circle, otherwise she probably wouldn’t be alive by next month. Rhys had been her conscience, that encouraged her to jump out of the slowly boiling pot.

The night wore on, and Feyre’s adrenaline petered away slowly, bringing waves of pain down her arm. Andromache had offered to take her straight to the hospital and meet Mor there, but Feyre had insisted through her pain-fogged mind that she wouldn’t put Andromache out of her way. Andromache didn’t know what else to do but respect Feyre’s wishes.  _The poor girl had been through enough already._ Andromache thought.

Finally, there was a tinkle of the door and two figures entered. One with wavy blonde hair, and one with inky-black hair. It was Mor… and Rhys.  _What had happened to Rhys?_  He had looked troubled when she saw him earlier that day; his eyes had been looking into a far-away place, and his features were pulled into a worried frown. But now… he looked distraught. His hair that was usually smoothed back had been roughly pulled by fingers running through his scalp, and there was a lingering terror in his deep blue eyes. He had become pale, making his features more harsh-looking. He stood there staring at her, frozen to the spot.

“Feyre!” Mor cried, rushing to her side and pulling her into a tight hug. She heard Feyre’s groan when her arm was caught between the two of them, and immediately let the hug become less firm, so she could move her hand. But Mor wouldn’t let go. The hug seemed to benefit Mor as much as it did Feyre, as Mor was starting to shake, and repeating to Feyre, “You’re free, you’re free.” A tear slid down Feyre’s cheek. She was free, not to be controlled.

Rhys was still glued to the spot, probably more in horror than Feyre at that moment. Feyre watched his fists clench and unclench, like he was trying to calm himself down. “I’ll go get the car started, Feyre needs to get to the hospital.” He said to no one in particular, and walked out.

Mor finally let Feyre out of the hug. “You’re going to be okay, Feyre. We’re going to the hospital to get that arm set, and we’ll take you wherever you want to go. Rhys says you’re welcome to stay at his, of course.”

“Thank you, Mor.” Feyre said, unable to express the amount of gratitude she wanted in this moment. Her brain felt like it was on auto-pilot, just so she was able to process that the people in front of her were not figments of her imagination.

**********

Every little bump of the car on the road sent waves of agony down Feyre’s arm, as she had to keep it steady to cause less damage. She hadn’t dared look at it, until she got a glimpse in the flashing lamplights through the car window as they drove through the streets. She wished she hadn’t looked. Bent at a funny angle from the lower arm down, her right arm hung uselessly. Part of her skin was straining from where the bone was trying to poke through. She let out a whimper of pain anytime the car made a turn.

Mor was sat in the back with her, offering a gentle hand on her good shoulder, still shaking slightly. From what she heard the last time she was at the house with them, Feyre thought something similar must have happened to Mor with the man she mentioned, Eris.

Rhys, however, kept his eyes focused on the road, and had still not spoken to her. His initial horror of seeing her in such a state at the launderette must have still been reverberating in him, as he was still pale and had shadows swimming in his deep blue eyes. Feyre felt a little bit hurt, as she had wanted to talk to him mainly to see why he looked so haunted, but she understood his shock from the first time she had seen him that day, and let it pass.

Feyre still had tears trickling down her face, even though she felt like she had at least recovered a little bit from the trauma of that day. These people, who she had known for a day and a half at the most probably, had wondered where she had gone for those weeks, and cared that she was in trouble. Once they had heard the news that she was with Andromache, they hadn’t hesitated to come for her and help. The few times her sisters had come to visit in the past few months since she had been engaged to Tamlin, they didn’t notice or bother to point out how much weight she had lost, because they probably couldn’t have cared less. But the Inner Circle had noticed immediately. Feyre would be forever grateful for them.

**********

They eventually reached the hospital, and Mor lead Feyre in through the doors, taking care of keeping her arm steady. Rhys went to park the car. After about half an hour, the doctor welcomed them into a room, where he started to plaster Feyre’s arm. Mor and Rhys sat with her through the procedure, Mor offering words of encouragement, and Rhys keeping quiet, watching.

“So, Feyre. How have you ended up like this?” The doctor asked, trying to make conversation.

“We were climbing trees like 6 year olds. Quite silly of us really.” Feyre was also grateful Mor was thinking quick on her feet, using the leaves still caught in Feyre’s hair and the cuts across her face to her advantage. Feyre couldn’t process conversation like that at the minute

“Can I write my name on it?” Mor asked, looking at Feyre’s new cast, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

“Uh, yeah. If you want.” Feyre replied, not really caring as a small pulse of pain  quickly swept up her arm. It hurt significantly less than it did an hour ago, so Mor’s attempt at lightheartedness worked a bit. Unfortunately, Mor couldn’t find a pen, but vowed to draw lots of love hearts and stars all over it when they returned to Rhys’ house.

Their drive home was quiet, as Rhys still seemed to be in his own world, and Feyre was content to sit and just think.

They arrived at the gates of Rhys’ house, and Feyre could finally breathe a sigh of relief. She was free. She was safe. She wouldn’t be hurt.

Mor, Feyre and Rhys walked in through the door, to be bombarded by a massive hug for them all by Cassian. It was a strong but surprisingly gentle hug, bearing in mind it was from a muscled and excitable man like Cassian; Feyre was happy to be welcomed back.

“We’re so glad to see you Feyre; we’ve been wondering where you’ve been!” Cassian said. Feyre felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he was wondering why she hadn’t bothered to contact them yet. Rhys mustn’t have told them yet.

“Well, she’s here now, so that’s what matters.” Mor replied, recovering Feyre from her stuttering. Amren and Azriel appeared from around the corner, both quiet, but Feyre could feel the quiet joy radiating off of them. Azriel smiled at her.

“Good to see you again, Feyre.” He said.

“Mother above, Feyre. You’re a mess! We’ll have to clean you up and find you some new clothes!” Feyre knew Amren meant this in a kind way, as she was fussing over her, already picking brambles out of the scraps of cloth left on her.

Feyre smiled at them all. The first genuine smile she had given to people in weeks. Mor gently took her shoulder.

“Good idea, Amren. Feyre, I didn’t have time to bring any spare clothes of mine, so you’ll have to borrow Rhys’ again for tonight. I’ll go home tomorrow and get some for the next few days.” Mor said. “Rhys, did you hear that? Feyre needs clothes please! Pronto!” Mor added, waving her hands in front of Rhys’ vacant expression. He blinked, processed it in his brain for a second and looked at Feyre once more before leaving the room.

“Is he alright?” Azriel asked.

“I think he’s just a bit shocked. He’s been like that since this afternoon.” Replied Mor quietly. She didn’t retell the events from that day, in which Feyre was grateful. As happy as she was to see them all again, she really wanted to go to bed. She was physically and mentally exhausted. Mor turned to Feyre and saw this tiredness in her eyes, so excused them both to sort out Feyre and left the room.

**********

Showering with a cast was a new experience for Feyre. She had been advised to keep it out of water, so was stressing about getting it wet; and after a while, her arm started to feel really heavy. Why did she have to put herself through these situations for other people, especially Tamlin? Why did he say he loved her, then did everything that indicated he didn’t? Why did he have to control when, where and who she went out with? Suddenly, salt tracks were mingling with the water, and Feyre was sobbing. Her legs went weak, and suddenly she was on the floor, water pouring down her face. The sobs wracked her body and she was shaking from head to toe. She realised that the shock had been the only thing keeping her together before. Her emotions were going up and down like a roller coaster. 

She made herself switch off the tap and get herself out of the shower. Mor was waiting patiently outside. She dressed into the cozy jumper Rhys had found for her and walked out of the bathroom.

The look of concern on Mor’s face at her blotchy face sent Feyre into more tears. Mor was immediately there to guide her to sit on the bed in the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around Feyre’s frail body.

“He hurt me. He said he loved me and he hurt me.” Feyre wept.

Mor just hugged her tighter. They stayed like that for a long time.


	8. Guilt

_Feyre was walking down the back alleys of Main Street, when she bumped into a tall figure with inky black hair. Rhys turned around and smiled at her, and offered his hand. She took it, and they began to walk back towards Main Street. She was having a grand time with Rhys, laughing and joking, but even then, something felt wrong. Like an unknown force was following her._

_They carried on walking past shops, talking to each other and laughing, when suddenly, a fist smashed the side of Feyre’s face. She fell to the ground, as she watched Rhys dissolve into thin air._

_“You belong to me.” she heard a familiar voice snarl._

_Then came the pounding of limbs on her frail body. Kicks, punches and slaps assaulted her in every place Tamlin had hit her the past few weeks, and she began to curl up into a tiny ball on the pavement. People were there, watching. Where did Rhys go? She needed him._  Where was he where was he where was he?  _She heard the familiar snap of a bone in her arm when Tamlin kicked her too hard. Feyre was screaming, but no sound came out of her mouth. Where was Rhys?_

**********

Feyre jolted awake, disturbing her arm and making it throb for a second or two. Last night had all been real, Feyre realised. It had felt like an out-of-body experience at the time, until she had reached Rhys’ house. Mor had stayed with her, arms wrapped around her small frame, until her crying wore her out and she fell asleep. One more tear made its way down her face as she remembered her nightmare. The nightmare that had been recurring in slightly different ways for the past two weeks.

She heard a gentle click at the door, and a trickle of light came through as Rhys slipped into the room, bearing a platter of food. He probably thought Feyre would still be asleep, but he saw her shadow sat up in bed and straightened, switching the light on. He looked even worse than he had last night. The shadows under his eyes had become darker, and his hair had become ruffled, like he had been tossing and turning all night.

“What has happened to you, Rhys?” Feyre turned the attention to him, needing to banish her thoughts from her head.

“You’re asking me, Feyre? Mother above; you have basically been imprisoned for the last two weeks, breaking your arm in the process of escaping from that bastard, and you’re asking why _I_ look bad?” Rhys said. If he was saying this without knowing about the bruises that had appeared and gone, and how she broke her arm by falling from the top floor of the house into thorn bushes… she’d rather not tell him now.

“Please, Rhys. I don’t want to talk about my things at the minute. Why have you been so quiet?” Feyre asked, not wanting to replay any events in her head..

Rhys set down the platter on the bedside table, and sat on the edge of the bed. His hands held his head, as he murmured, “It’s all my fault.”

Feyre let loose an odd laugh. “Rhys, how on earth is it your fault? You’re the one who’s looked after me.”

“But I haven’t Feyre.” He groaned.”I could have stopped this before it had begun. Since high school, Tamlin and I have hated each other. It’s a story for another day, but I knew that Tamlin had a controlling nature. I could have put two and two together once you said that you were with him, and I could have at least told you why I don’t trust him. You could have had a warning, and maybe you wouldn’t have been hurt. If I ran down the street earlier yesterday, and not stood there looking like an idiot, maybe you wouldn’t have your broken arm.”

“But I stopped you, remember? You were helping me, because if I hadn’t been through any of this, I wouldn’t be this sure about leaving him.” Argued Feyre, a bit of annoyance creeping into her voice. He shouldn’t blame himself when he has done nothing wrong.

“But you don’t understand, Feyre. You went silent for two weeks, probably due to me talking to you. It  _is_ my fault.” Rhys insisted.

“But it’s not! _I_  asked to stay, and–”

“I didn’t know what had happened to you. I was so  _worried._..”

The rest of his sentence faded out. _Don’t you realise how_ worried  _I was about where you were?_ That was what Tamlin had said when she had arrived back at the house two weeks ago. Then there had been the onslaught of his fists. She sat there and felt phantom hands gripping her arms. It was all too soon for her. 

“Get out, Rhysand.” Feyre whispered.

A look of hurt flashed across his face. He had shared something with her that he maybe didn’t even want to admit to himself, and she was rejecting him.

“Feyre… I’m sorry for what I said; I don’t mean to be overbearing–”

“GET OUT!” Feyre screamed. She couldn’t help it. She knew she was pushing away one of the only people who was ever kind to her, but she was panicking. Why did everyone have to be so worried? Could they not just let her live her life? Feyre was taking things out of context, but her mind had focused on that Cauldron-damned word and every memory had flooded back.

Rhysand had flinched at her scream. His brows were furrowed, as if he was angry and extremely concerned at the same time.

“I-I’m sorry, Feyre.” Rhysand was trying to form more words, but that was all that came out. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find something else to say, but he gave up. He left the tray of food on the bedside table, and quickly left.

Feyre immediately regretted telling him to go away. It had been her panicked response, and she had said it without thinking about what she really needed. What she really needed was someone to talk to, and the person she had wanted to really talk to in that moment was Rhys. She wanted him to come back.

Mother above, what a mess she was. Why would anybody want to stay and listen to her, anyway?

**********

 _Why would anybody want to stay with you?_  Those same words ran through his head again. He had first thought them on the night he met Feyre, and the doubt had presented itself to Rhys now as clear as day. Maybe she only wanted to stay at his because it was the safest place she could be; which was fair enough. 

He had just been trying to show his concern for where she had been, but that had obviously not settled right with her. Maybe it was because they still barely knew each other. Even though they had talked the night away when he met her, he could sense that it had been scraping the tip of the iceberg on their lives. But still, he had felt an odd connection that night. Like they understood each other in a deeper way than most people would. Or maybe he had imagined the glimmer in her eyes all night. Maybe she was just being polite.

All these thoughts swirled through Rhys’ mind within a few seconds, barely tangible. He just knew he didn’t quite understand her sudden change in behaviour. She had screamed at him, and he saw the anguish in her face when she said it he flinched. Hurt, anger and concern had flashed through his head. Was it Tamlin’s fault she was upset? Or should he be angry at himself for overstepping the boundaries. He had just wanted to help.

He was seriously considering going back to her room and clearing things up. He even turned back and stood outside her door for a few minutes. 

 _She told you to get out, so leave her alone. She doesn’t want to speak to you._ He thought to himself.

He stood there, battling with himself, until he decided to turn and head back to his room.


	9. Movie Night

It had been a few days since Feyre’s last proper conversation, or rather, argument and panic attack, with Rhysand. She hadn’t been mad at him specifically. Later, after she had calmed down, she was more mad with Tamlin. She couldn’t even get through a conversation with someone and not panic, because of him. Was that really what she had been reduced to?

Rhysand hadn’t met her eye for at least two days afterward. He seemed to be ashamed to have upset her; but they both knew he had said sorry enough times that day. Perhaps he was waiting for her to make the first move this time. Maybe he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. He just didn’t realise that she was just as embarrassed as him about that day. He hadn’t said anything inherently wrong, and she had screamed at him. He had just shown concern about her as a true friend, and she had pushed him away. Feyre wanted to apologise, but could never find the right words when she saw his troubled expression and weary features. Even his hair, which had gleamed in the lamplight the night she met him, appeared to have dulled. Shadows crossed his eyes every time she looked at him.

Mor had kept her quietly but pleasantly busy in town that week as the air had chilled further, and crept closer to winter. She had tasked Feyre with finding a set of clothes for practical use, one for lounging around in, a party outfit and anything else she liked. Amren had even hung around with Feyre for a few days when Mor was working at the boutique, giving helpful judgement when needed. Feyre couldn’t yet express to them how grateful she was, and couldn’t stop saying thank you. She was surprised they weren’t getting annoyed at how many times she had said it.

**********

They had reached the weekend, and luckily, all of the circle seemed to have a day of rest. Mor organised for them all to go over to Rhys’ for the evening and have a film night. Feyre was happy with this. Minimal effort to get ready and she didn’t have to go out.

“Some cheek you have Mor, organising things always at my house.” Rhys grumbled with a wary smile on his face when Mor had suggested it. Mor had just laughed at him, earning a small chuckle from Feyre, and took Feyre to the shops with her to buy snacks for later on.

While Feyre was happy to be out of the house and grateful for Mor encouraging her not to recede into herself, she had found all the shelves stacked high with sweets, crisps and chocolate overwhelming. Mor had told her to put anything she wanted in the basket, but Feyre looked at everything and felt sick. At the moment, it was a miracle if she kept down a normal meal. She was constantly reminded that she felt so full after a few mouthfuls because of her time with Tamlin, and all the memories came flooding back. She came across a bar of Aero chocolate, which used to be her favourite when she was spending all of her day painting in university. However, Tamlin saw her eating a whole bar when she was stressing about a piece due the next day.

“How do girls get boyfriends if they eat this much and start getting fat?” Tamlin had scoffed at her, thinking he was clever. It had been one small bar as comfort, and she hadn’t changed weight over the past few weeks, but Feyre stopped eating them all the same, afraid that Tamlin would pick up on it again and make her feel worse. She realised now how stupid it was to let him get inside her head then, because now she could only stare at the stacked chocolate bars on the shelf.

Mor had noticed Feyre staring at the chocolate, and approached her.

“Are you…?” Mor started

“He even stopped me from eating what I wanted.” Feyre said, anger rising in her core. She didn’t despair anymore. She knew she couldn’t, otherwise she would be an irreparable wreck. No. Now it was just icy calm rage.

Mor must have seen the hatred gleam in Feyre’s eyes, and must have had an idea of what Feyre was thinking.

“You know what, Feyre? Fuck Tamlin. Get the chocolate to spite him. He doesn’t control you anymore.” Mor goaded, and what must have been her hatred for whatever happened between her and Eris came out of her to help encourage Feyre.

It took all her willpower to lift her hand to the row of Aero chocolate and pick up her old favourite mint chocolate, but Feyre did it. She chucked it in Mor’s waiting basket, and they both let out a whoop of happiness. Other shoppers stared at them oddly, but they didn’t care in that moment. They both knew she was capable of recovering.

**********

It was early evening when the Inner Circle started to arrive at Rhys’ house. Azriel opened the door first, carrying a massive tub of popcorn. He took off his bobble hat and scarf and immediately ran to the fireplace in the living room, where he warmed his hands and face on the steady warmth from the coals. He reminded Feyre of a cat, practically hugging the fire on cold winter nights, and she smiled a bit. Cassian and Amren followed close behind, carrying their own snacks. They did the same as Azriel, and Amren shoved him to the side so they could all share the heat. It was like they were heat-seeking missiles. Mor appeared from behind Feyre, looking from them to the mountain of sweets they had accumulated.

“I said I was getting sweets!” Mor pouted.

“Yes,” Amren replied, “But you only get the sweets you like.”

Rhys walked into the room, scanned the heap of sweets and turned to Mor.

“You didn’t get me any Jaffa Cakes!” Cried Rhys.

They carried on bickering, but Feyre didn’t mind. She was finally happy to be in this group, who argued over silly things but still loved each other. She stood in the doorway, quietly watching them all.  She noticed Rhys’ attention on her, eyes still wary, but inviting her to come in and talk. She blushed a bit (she wasn’t quite sure why) and sat down on one of the sofas.

“Are we going to watch a movie, or are you lot going to exploit my fireplace?” Rhys joked. Azriel, Cassian and Amren let out some grumbles and reluctantly retrieved a few blankets before sitting down. Amren sat by herself on the armchair, and Cassian and Azriel sat together. Mor waltzed over to them and plopped herself on the sofa sideways, casually stretching her legs out over the laps of Azriel and Cassian. Cassian was already sprawled out on one side of Azriel, leaving Azriel very little room to move. He blushed when Mor stretched out, and sat in the middle, somehow comfortable between the other two. That left Rhys to pick up the remaining blanket and cautiously sit down next to Feyre. It looked like they both didn’t know where they stood with each other. He grabbed the remote and threw the small blanket over them both. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself, so sat next to him awkwardly.

“What do we actually want to watch?” Rhys asked. Immediately, arguments broke out. Mor wanted a chick flick, Amren wanted a horror, Cassian wanted a comedy, Azriel wanted a mystery, Rhys wanted an adventure, and Feyre didn’t really mind. She watched as war broke out, with Cassian leaning over and covering Mor and Azriel’s mouth, and a full scale shouting match taking place between Rhys and Amren. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh.

Almost like breaking out of a trance, Rhys heard her laugh and paused. He shouted over everybody and told them to shut up. He then turned to Feyre.

“What would you like to watch, Feyre?” Rhys asked, staring at her intently.

She wracked her brain for any movies she thought they’d agree on.

“Umm… Does everyone like Harry Potter?” She said. Mor squealed and starting chanting, “Harry Potter Marathon! Harry Potter Marathon!”

Rhys smiled at her, and Cassian and Azriel seemed to agree. Amren gave Rhys a nod, so he switched it on. Everyone seemed to immediately relax and calm down, and Feyre brought her exposed feet up into the warmth of the blanket.

**********

They were halfway through Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and it must have been close to midnight, but they were all wide awake from the amounts of sugar they had consumed. Feyre had yet to eat anything, but was awake from the energy of the others. As the night had wore on, she had become uncomfortable in her sitting position, and had gravitated steadily closer to Rhys. It wasn’t her fault; he didn’t seem to mind, and he was warm, so she decided it was okay to edge onto his side of the sofa.

The sweets were dwindling, but Cassian eyed the pile, and reached for Feyre’s untouched Aero bar. Oh no he didn’t. Before Feyre knew what she was doing, she grabbed the bar out of Cassian’s hand and unwrapped it. She took a big bite out of it, and succumbed to the mint chocolate bubbles in her mouth. She devoured the entire bar within the minute.

The group gaped at her. They had never seen her eat something so quickly, and so far, keep it down. Feyre sat there and stared at them as if to say, What? The chocolate had brought back her memories of university, before she met Tamlin, and for once, she actually felt content. She grinned at a slack-jawed Rhys and wiped the chocolate from the corners of her mouth and laughed. Then they all started to laugh with her, not believing that it was possible.

**********

It must have been at least 2:30am and Feyre’s eyes were shutting. Everyone was already asleep, and she was the last one awake. Amren was curled into a ball, and Azriel had his arms crossed and head back. Cassian and Mor were in their sprawled positions and Rhys was still half upright, legs brought up onto the sofa, encircling her tucked feet and hand holding up his head. She knew she’d find it awkward to explain in the morning, but she didn’t care. She was too tired. She switched off the TV, curled up into a ball and leaned further into Rhys. He sensed her movement and woke up briefly, to turn and lean back into her. She almost swore she heard him purr contentedly. Her head now rested on his shoulder, and his arm curled around her waist to bring her even closer. His head lolled to the side and rested on top of hers, and she finally closed her eyes.

No one moved the entire night. Feyre had a dream of Tamlin taunting her, but Rhys didn’t disappear this time; he stayed for her and fought Tamlin back. And for once, Feyre didn’t wake up.


	10. A Conversation

Feyre stirred when a sliver of light came through the curtains of the living room. She could tell it was still quite early. She surveyed the room, and saw the sweet wrappers piled high on the table, and the little stick men Mor had made from the foil wrapping on her box of chocolates. Everyone was knocked out, and unmoved from hours ago. Cassian was still spread across one side of the sofa, mouth hanging open as he snored softly.

Then, Feyre realised that her pillow rose and fell steadily. She turned her head slightly and found she had been resting on a chest. Rhys’ chest. Somehow, they had both sunk to the side and become more entangled with each other. And even more embarrassing, there was a small wet patch on his shirt. How did she end up drooling on a person who currently didn’t really want to talk to her?  This was so awkward. The light had quickly crept away from her face and was going to make its way to Rhys’ soon, waking him up. Shit. She needed to get rid of the drool patch without moving. She couldn’t think of anything more efficient than gently blowing on it and hoping he didn’t feel the cold spot on his chest. She did this for what must have been five minutes, but it didn’t make it any better. 

“Are you having fun, there?” He murmured into her ear. She stopped, cheeks puffed and lips puckered, and slowly turned her head to look up at a fully awake Rhys. A Rhys that looked like he had been awake longer than her, and seen everything. Rhys smirked at her cheeks full of air, and lifted his hand to the sides of her face. He squished the air out of her cheeks, and held her face with her lips puckered like a fish, and chuckled to himself at the sight.

 _Mother above._  Feyre internally screamed at herself in embarrassment. If she could fold into herself until she became nothing, she would in this moment. Her face heated and went bright red. 

“Um, I’m sorry about your shirt.” Feyre tried. What was she supposed to say? How long had he been watching her try to dry his shirt? “How long have you been awake?”

All the wariness in his eyes over the last week had disappeared. It looked like maybe he had been wanting to talk to her all this time after all. He smiled at her. “I’ve been awake for about half an hour, I’m guessing? But you looked too peaceful to move, so I stayed here.”

“Well, you are a comfortable pillow.” She muttered, and turned even redder (if it was possible).

“That’s good to know,” He laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re a decent blanket. I’ve been nice and toasty all night.”

She looked down at both their bodies. He was right to say he would have been warm all night. During their sleep, they had both somehow stretched out over the length of the couch. Feyre was sprawled completely over him, covering the majority of his body, and she had her left arm underneath his back, basically hugging his torso. She was mortified. Was he just using humour to deflect his discomfort of having her on top of him? As if it could get any more awkward. She didn’t mind too much… She just didn’t want Rhys to judge her or feel uncomfortable, so she dislodged her left arm from under his back and pushed up. She had had her healing arm raised above her head, resting underneath Rhys’ chin. She slid off the couch and stood up, making herself useful by starting to pick up sweet wrappers, and waited for her cheeks to return to normal until she turned back around… And found Rhys watching her with feline amusement. Feyre flushed again.

“You’re so adorable when you’re embarrassed.” He said, smirking. Feyre didn’t quite know what to reply to that. Then his face turned more serious, as if he remembered his brooding over the last few days. “Feyre… I think we need to talk about some things… I think I need to explain what I meant the other day. How about we get away from these lot for a few days next week and go up to the cabin I own in the mountains? It’s a great walk and it has some really nice views, so maybe while we’re up there you can paint?” He asked, remembering her telling him about taking art at university. 

Feyre hesitated. She hadn’t painted in months, not since she’d been engaged to Tamlin. Maybe it would be good to get back into practice, and maybe settle what had happened between them last week. 

“Okay,” She replied. “But we’re bringing hot cocoa powder with us.”

“And Aero bars, from what I saw last night.” They both chuckled at that.

Mor awoke at their voices, and shifted, only to awake Azriel and Cassian, groaning.

“What are you two giggling at?” Mor smirked.

“Nevermind, do we want breakfast?” Said Rhys.

“Ooh yeahhh that’d be good.” Replied Cassian, stretching his limbs.

 As they all headed into the kitchen, Feyre saw Az gently shake Amren out of her tight ball. Amren woke up, and the snarl that he received was otherworldly. Still, Feyre laughed at them and carried on towards food.


	11. Hike

If Feyre had realised how cold it would be walking up to this Cauldron-damned cabin, she would have had a good mind to refuse to come. Rhys had told her it was a ‘great walk’. Well, maybe for his strong legs. He had later admitted he only tended to walk up here in the summer. The winter wind stung Feyre’s exposed cheeks as she lugged her change of clothes for that weekend and her portable set of art supplies in a surprisingly heavy backpack up the steep incline. The snow crunched underneath her hiking boots, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if her toes had already fallen off from the cold. She had been muttering and cursing her way up the path.

Rhys was scouting the way ahead with his longer legs. Feyre was sure that if he had been by himself, he would be much further along the path by now, but he tried to slow himself to her speed. He too was bundled up in a coat, gloves and hat, but Feyre could tell from metres away he was shivering violently. He had asked whether she wanted to turn back a few minutes after they got out of the car, but Feyre was determined to accomplish something that day, even if they both nearly froze to death. And bless Rhys, he was already shivering at that point, but he had heard her refusal to give up, and carried on with her. 

The whole point of coming up here was for peace, quiet and some answers for the both of them, but had any of these objectives been completed yet? Feyre didn’t think so. Rhys had started to open up the conversation about what they came up here to talk about at the start of the walk, but Feyre had just grumbled, “Tell me later, I want to get out of the cold.” Before he could say any more.

They carried on for what must have been a couple of hours. Rhys looked back every few seconds to find an exasperated Feyre keeping her eyes on the path, almost afraid that he’d look back and she’d be swept away by the unforgiving wind. The cold was also doing no good for Feyre’s broken arm. It hurt any time she moved it, so she had her arms crossed over her chest to keep her arm away from the cold. She found this was no good on this terrain, as she had quickly lost balance and fallen over. At any other time, she probably would have found it funny. Why did she get herself into situations like this?

Just as Feyre was sure she was about to drop dead on the spot after hours of hiking, she heard Rhys shout back to her over the wind.

“We’re here! It’s a few more metres and we’re there, Feyre!” Feyre could have sworn she heard his teeth chattering. She almost dropped to the floor in relief.

“Thank the Mother!” She shouted back. Feyre saw his smile and would have ran the last few metres if she had enough energy. Rhys however, did wait for her at the top of the hill, and watched her face light up at the sight of the shelter they had found.

An old cabin covered in what must been at least a few feet of snow stuck out in the clearing. It didn’t look like much now, but Feyre knew it would be cosy when they got a fire started. Rhys’ legs carried him quickly and easily over the snow, even with his heavy backpack full of food on his back. Feyre watched him and stumbled on behind, until Rhys turned back to gently lift her out of the snow and sling an arm underneath her legs so she had to grip his shoulders to keep balance. The sudden intimacy of it all had Feyre forgetting to grumble, and she giggled. An odd look crossed Rhys’ face seeing this, and he smiled in return.

Rhys placed Feyre back on the ground to open the door, and they walked in. 

“It’s not too well furnished, but it keeps a roof over our heads.” Rhys said.

“Rhys, it’s amazing.” She said, gazing at the cozy interior. Rhys mustn’t have been up here in a while, she thought, but the well-worn sofas and fireplace told her that he and the others must have hiked up here a few times. If it was tidied up a bit, she would be happy to sit on the window-seat and gaze into the forests surrounding them and the nearby lake at the bottom of the mountain. It reminded her of happier times when she was younger and the whole family went to a lodge in the middle of nowhere one summer. She smiled at the memory, remembering the happiness on her mother’s face in those months before she had died.

Feyre snapped out of her daze and looked over to Rhys, who was gazing at her in return, with that odd look on his face again. 

“Shall I get a fire started?” Rhys asked. “There should be an axe and some spare wood out the back.”

“Please do, I’m freezing to the spot. I’ll unpack.” Feyre replied, still trying to analyse that expression he had shown twice over the last few minutes.

**********

She pulled out her spare jumper and socks and immediately put them on over her first set, and fished her portable set of watercolours and sketchbook out and put them on the coffee table to use later. Then she decided to find the food Rhysand had brought in his backpack and set it out. 

After unpacking everything, she walked out to the back of the cabin to check how Rhys was doing. She turned around the corner and faced Rhys’ back. His thick coat had been slung over a fence post to help him swing the axe over his head. She watched the broad expanse of muscle move in time with each swing of the axe through his jumper, him not noticing Feyre behind him. Watching his quiet work hypnotised Feyre, and she continued to observe for a few minutes, until… 

“Ah! Shit!” And a few more curses rang out in the clearing as the handle of the axe snapped in two in Rhys’ hands. He hunched over, cradling his right arm, and Feyre sprinted through the snow to meet him. 

“Rhys! Are you okay?” She asked as she offered a hand on his shoulder.

“Feyre, how long have you been here? You’re freezing! I think some of the splinters from that damned axe have gone in my arm; it caught the handle sticking out of the wood as it went down. I knew that axe was going to break; it’s been here since my father was a teenager.” Rhys grunted, as blood started seeping through the ripped fabric of his jumper. 

“We need to get you inside. Forget the wood.” She said as he made an effort to pick up some logs in his uninjured arm.

They made their way into the cabin, and Feyre ordered him to sit down. She found an old tea towel in a drawer and wrapped it around Rhys’ arm while she wondered what else to do. 

“Do you keep any bandages in here?” She asked.

“There should be some in the front pocket of my backpack actually. I brought some just in case.” Rhys replied. The blood was flowing quite quickly, already staining the towel wrapped around it.

Feyre hadn’t looked in the front pocket. She opened it and found a whole first aid box. There was also a picture of a group of people there too, who had the same features as Rhys, but Feyre would ask about them later, she decided. She was grateful that at least one of them had thought ahead about the possible hazards of this hike.

She unwrapped the bandage and got ready to peel back the towel, when Rhys’ hand gently stopped her.

“What do we do with the splinters?” He questioned. Feyre paused. What could she do? If she took them out, then the bleeding might increase. If she left them in, it could cause more damage to his arm, and they might not heal. She grabbed her phone and tried to dial the hospital to get advice, but the phone had no signal. Feyre felt nervousness rise in her gut. She watched the growing blotch of blood and decided to try to take them out. Any bits left could be taken out by the doctor later, but the main bits needed to come out.

Feyre picked up the pair of surgical scissors in the first aid kit. Hopefully, they would give her more precision. She slowly peeled the towel away with her fingertips. Feyre took one look at the blood that was coming from his arm and almost retched. She wasn’t sure how an axe handle could do so much damage, but there weren’t splinters, but  _shards_ sticking out of the taut muscles on his right forearm. She couldn’t leave him, so steeled her stomach, and started to work on the largest piece of wood first.

Feyre chanced using the scissors in her right arm’s grip. It might be the weaker arm, but it had more control than her left. She was starting to overthink. Feyre closed the scissors around the top of the shard and pulled gently, but firmly. Rhys loosed a groan, and Feyre winced on his behalf. She didn’t want to hurt him, but if she pulled it out too quickly some splinters may get left behind. She carried on, trying to cause the least amount of pain as she could, but Rhys couldn’t help but cry out when the scissors slipped slightly in her hand, and the wood retreated back into his muscle.

“I saw a picture in your backpack. Are those people your family?” Feyre asked, trying to take his mind off of things.

“Yeah,” Rhys said. “It’s a picture of my family when we all came up here one summer. I was eight, and my sister, Larissa would have only been a few months old. I remember going down to the lake every day with my mother and swimming the whole day…” He trailed off and became distant, until an accidental tug from Feyre brought him back, groaning. 

“Seems like we both used to like being taken out to cabins like this. My family went somewhere similar to this too.” Feyre replied. She told him of her summer when he was too focused on the pain in his arm, and it seemed to take the edge off for him.

“Okay, I think I need to do one more pull and we have the worst one out.” Feyre said.

Rhys braced himself on the side of the chair, and bowed his head. “Just do it now.” He gritted his teeth.

In one swift, sharp moment, Feyre pulled the remaining shard out of his arm, and he bit back a cry of pain. She tried her hardest not to gag and carried on with the smaller shards left in his arm.

The minutes ticked on in quiet concentration, and she tried not to store what she was seeing in her mind, because it would surely haunt her dreams. It mustn’t be as bad as it looked, but the blood leaking out everywhere made it look like a murder scene had taken place on his right side. 

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Feyre had finished digging out all the splinters. She checked the holes made in his arms for anything that might have snapped off, wrapped his arm tightly in the bandage and kept the bloody tea towel under his arm in case the flow didn’t stop quick enough. 

Rhys’ face was wan, and he was slumped into the sofa. Feyre knew that he needed cheering up, so thought she would make them both a hot chocolate to regain their energy. But she would need to start the fire to get hot water. 

She retrieved the small supply of wood Rhys had managed to chop before he hurt himself and brought it to the hearth. There was barely enough wood for more than a couple of hours, but Feyre found the matches and lit the wood. It took a minute or two to catch, but she coaxed a small flame out of the wood and warmed a pan of water over it. Rhys watched her. She turned around to him, and watched him back. 

“Thank you, Feyre.” He said, his deep blue eyes piercing hers from halfway across the room. He might only be semi-conscious, but his gaze conveyed gratefulness all the same.

“It’s getting late now, so I think we should spend the night and leave early tomorrow morning and get your arm checked out.”

“But I promised you the weekend so you could paint-” Rhys argued, but his head hung in exhaustion.

“It can wait. You need to get your arm seen to by a real doctor, not just me.” 

“Well, you seem to have done a pretty good job on me yourself.” He tried to joke. ”And I still owe you the explanation you wanted.” 

Feyre snorted. He had deep cuts all over his arm, and he was almost falling unconscious from blood loss, yet he was concerned about her? It reminded her of the reason why they were there. She wouldn’t admit it to herself yet, but she was worried about Rhys. He genuinely didn’t seem to care too much about himself, and was more interested in what Feyre wanted than what he needed.  

“Rhys, you need rest. You can tell me about it later.” She started.

“No. I need to tell you now. Otherwise I will probably never summon the will to try to explain it again. Please, Feyre. I want you to know that I didn’t mean any harm that day.” He pleaded.

She sighed. “I know that you didn’t mean it, Rhys. It was me who freaked out over nothing.” She would have to let him talk, even if he was in no fit state to.

Feyre poured the hot water into the mugs and brought the hot chocolate over for him to hold with one hand. She sat next to him and picked up a bar of mint Aero for them each.

Rhys started to talk.

**********

“It’s probably best for me to start from when I was in high school. I was a surprisingly small kid, stronger with my words than with my muscles. I might have been outgoing with Cassian and Azriel, but I was quiet in class and kept out of harm’s way. That was until my father forced me to join the football team. He told me it was to strengthen me up. What he didn’t know was that a couple of days after joining, the captain of the team, named Jurian started to pick on me. I was never sure why, maybe for my size. He used to trip me on the field, and push me around. For a while, I let him, because my father would be furious if I started fighting with people. But one day, I’d had enough. 

“It was after practice, Jurian decided to push me into one of the lockers in the changing rooms, and I decided this time, I would fight back. He turned his back and I punched him in the side of the head. Unfortunately, the desired effect of him getting knocked out didn’t work, and only made him angrier, and he gathered his friends and started to beat me up. Tamlin had been the one to stop them by punching Jurian in the stomach, sending him collapsing into his friends. His father was in the police force, so he must have learned a few tricks to get someone down quickly. The others got the idea and ran off. Looking back now, I think this was before Tamlin changed for the worse.

“He checked to see if I was alright, and somehow, we became quick friends from then on. He fitted in with Cass and Az quite well, and when he started falling behind on grades, I helped him get back up to scratch pretty quickly. Needless to say, we had to owe each other a lot.

“Then, in our last year of school, he got a girlfriend, named Amarantha. The relationship was turbulent, to say the least. They constantly had arguments, but they always used to make up quickly… and passionately. He was already fairly stubborn then, but he usually caved in when Amarantha argued against him, which was often. However Amarantha… She was never very loyal to anyone, and I had heard rumours around the school that she had cheated on many of her previous boyfriends. She started giving me looks a few weeks into their relationship. I didn’t want to get involved with her, so I ignored her and carried on like usual. 

“Then, one day in break, I was on my way to football practice, when she intercepted me at the door of the changing rooms. It was obvious that she was trying to flirt with me, but I didn’t want any of it. I politely finished the conversation and tried to move away from her, but she caught my arm unexpectedly and pulled me to her, and she started kissing me. It was awful. I was so shocked that I froze for a second, and she used that time to push me against the wall and try to deepen the kiss. But then Tamlin walked out of the changing rooms and saw us. Kissing. He didn’t seem to register my obvious discomfort, but I looked at him and saw something in his eyes change. In that moment, he changed for the worse. Amarantha blamed it all on me saying how I had forced her to kiss me, and somehow, he must have believed her, even though I was the one pushed against the wall, not her. He raged at me, threw a few punches, and stalked out. I thought it would have been over at that, but it wasn’t.

“I arrived home later that night, and my mother asked why I hadn’t come back with Larissa. When I asked why I would be with Larissa, she told me that Tamlin had come around and asked for her. Because he was a family friend at that point, it was nothing unusual, so my mother hadn’t thought twice. Apparently, he had come to pick her up to meet with me at the nearby river, which was one of our hangouts. Obviously, I knew better than to think it was a friendly gesture, and I sprinted as fast as I could to the river to find out why Tamlin had taken my little sister. It couldn’t have taken me more than 5 minutes to run there, and everything passed in a blur, but it still felt like eternity to reach that damn river. It also started to heavily rain in that time, and the day felt like it was getting worse and worse by the minute.

“I finally reached the river, and on the other side stood Tamlin, holding my confused sister and looking completely deranged. His hair was tangled, and his eyes had a certain quality that showed he wasn’t in the right state of mind. He looked drunk on a burning rage. He started shouting, and cursing, and screaming. I could take that; I didn’t care about him anymore. I only cared about getting Larissa out of his hands. I wondered why he had bothered to bring her here anyway. I could see that she was getting more frightened by the minute, but I would have to cross the river to get to her. It was like a horror movie.

“He continued to cry out while I tried to calm him, until he did what he must have planned to come here to do. I remember his voice starting to go hoarse, when he said, “If you’re going to take something of mine off of me, then I’ll take something off of you.”

“I saw the fear in Larissa’s eyes, and she must have saw the fear in mine, as we both started to scream to each other. Tamlin pushed my sister into the river, and just ran away, while I was left screaming. I tried to jump in after her, but even I almost got swept away by the current. The heavy rain that started pouring had quickly made the current too strong to swim against, and I barely made it back to the bank. I had stayed in the water looking for her until the current nearly swept me away myself.

“Deep down, I don’t think Tamlin meant for it to go that far, but he got himself into such a rage I don’t think he knew what he was doing anymore. I think he expected me to be able to save her, eventually. I don’t think he realised that the river was running so strongly that night. I ran down the edge of the bank, as far as the tree that fell in that river years ago. And that was where I found her, half submerged in water and caught on that tree trunk. I jumped back in and pulled her out. I checked for a pulse and tried to resuscitate her, but I was too late. I must have tried hopelessly for half an hour. Larissa was seven when she died.

“It had been my word against his about what had happened that night. He insisted that she had fallen in herself, and with his father being part of the police, his story was the one that was accepted. We were given condolences and ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, but it never filled the massive hole in my heart that Tamlin had gotten away with it. My mother went into complete isolation. She was distraught, and soon stopped sleeping and eating. She died two months after Larissa from her sadness…

“And now, years later, I meet you, Feyre darling, who happens to be engaged to the man in this world I despise the most. When I first met you, I wondered how a woman like you would end up with a man like him, but I wanted to respect you so I didn’t say anything. It was such a mistake Feyre. Looking back now, if it got you to stay away from him, I would have told you, even if you hated me for it. I was so frightened when I didn’t hear from you, because I knew it meant that Tamlin must have gotten worse over the years. Knowing how he reacted to me and Amarantha, I was afraid that he might have found out you were with me that night, and locked you down, which he did. And for that, Feyre, I can’t apologise enough for not doing more to see if you were okay went you went silent. That was why I was so concerned, and I didn’t mean to be overbearing; I didn’t want to tell you that early on from escaping him. I’m sorry that I was the reason for another person getting hurt again.”

**********

There were steady streams of tears flowing down both Rhys and Feyre’s faces.

“Oh Rhys… I’m so sorry.” Feyre said. She didn’t know what else to say. How could someone do such a thing over something so small? Killing a child over a kiss? 

Rhys looked utterly exhausted, head facing the ground and tears dripping down his face. Feyre didn’t know what else to do but to sit down next to him and envelope his bowed frame in a firm hug. He leaned into her body, and a sob came out of his mouth. They turned to face each other properly, and Feyre pressed her head against his chest, hugging him tighter. He rested his head on top of hers.

“Rhys, I want you to know that this was none of your fault. It was my decision to stay with him for those last few weeks, and you shouldn’t feel responsible for what happened to me in those weeks. You don’t deserve to feel guilt for something you had no control over, because you didn’t do anything wrong. You respected me when he didn’t. Even though those weren’t good weeks, I am grateful you respected me.

I panicked that day because of what he had said to me when I returned to the house after staying over that first time. He told me he had been  _worried,_ andthat word had set me off, because he started to get out of control after that. You couldn’t have known the effect it would have on me, because I didn’t until it happened. I don’t blame you for anything, please understand that.”

Rhys let out a shaky sigh. His chin dipped, and his lips now rested on her forehead. His hands moved so he held her head against him, and he pressed a long, gentle kiss to her head. He leaned further into her, if that was possible, and she closed her eyes at the warm pressure on the centre of her forehead and smiled slightly. Feyre knew that it was probably just for comfort, and he was probably slightly delirious anyway, but a thought appeared in her head.

 _This feels right._ The idea seemed to linger. She argued with herself; she’d only known him for a few weeks, and she had only just broken up with Tamlin. Cauldron, she had been  _engaged_ to that piece of shit. That thought almost made her gag. She pushed that thought out of her head.

Feyre let herself enjoy the moment, before realising that the last of their fire had burned out, and the room was growing steadily colder. She didn’t want to, but she pulled away and looked at his face. Her presence seemed to have significantly calmed him down, but his eyes were red and his cheeks were splotchy. She tried to give him a reassuring smile.

“I think we should get ready to go to bed. We’re both exhausted and need some rest for the journey back tomorrow.” Feyre said.

Rhys hesitated, almost like he knew that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, being left alone to think about the resurfaced memories, but he slowly nodded his head in agreement. 

“I… think I might need a bit of help changing…” He said, looking pointedly at his heavily bandaged arm. At least he seemed to be trying to perk up a little bit.

Feyre’s cheeks pinked slightly, but she replied, “Sure, just let me get ready first.”

**********

She returned to the living room five minutes later after being directed into the bedroom. He had picked out his spare shirt and jumper, and waited on the couch.

She tried not to stare at his broad frame as she helped him undress, but that became impossible when she helped strip him of his t-shirt. The hard planes of his stomach and the well sculpted muscles were hard to look past. His physique was the art of a god. And the tattoos that snaked across the entirety of his chest made Feyre pause. The whorls and shapes of the black ink circling his arms made Feyre’s inner artist come alive. That inner artist had fallen dormant; she hadn’t seen it in months. She couldn’t help but trace the lines with the tip of her finger, staring in wonder.

Rhys smirked at her, finally gaining some energy to be his usual self. “See something you like?” He purred.

Feyre’s hand retracted immediately. She reddened, but laughed with him and carried on helping him put his shirt back on, hoping he might forget what happened.

Even after putting on two shirts and a jumper, the chilled air started to make Feyre and Rhys shiver uncontrollably.

She felt uncomfortable being the one to say it, but Feyre asked, “It’s going to be too cold to sleep tonight, isn’t it?”

Rhys seemed to catch on to what she was starting to imply. “We could use each other’s body warmth…”

“I mean, only if you want to. If you don’t want to it’s fine.” Feyre said, failing at making it less awkward.

“No, I don’t mind. We’ll freeze to death otherwise.” Rhys said.

The bed could have accommodated at least four people, but there they both were, clambering into the bed. Feyre left a foot between them, just in case he felt uncomfortable, but after a minute, the bed groaned as Rhys shifted his weight to get closer to her. She was on her right side, and he was on his left, and they both stared at each other for a moment. His deep blue eyes penetrated hers, and for a moment, she swore they flickered down to her lips, but it happened too quickly. She banished the thought and the question it presented.

It was still too cold. A silent question lingered in his eyes. She nodded and he pulled her closer while she turned onto her other side. Feyre was instantly enveloped with the scent of citrus and sea, and found it calming. More calming than the one of roses and freshly cut grass that had choked her each night.

 _Stop, Feyre._  She ordered herself. She would not think of Tamlin.

One of Rhys’ hands circled her waist, and started to absentmindedly trace gentle circles on her stomach. Feyre was surprised, but didn’t mind that Rhys did this. She found it comforting. His head rested behind hers, and each steady breath sent a pleasant tickle down her neck. She tilted her head further back into his warm embrace.

“Good night, Rhys.” She whispered.

“Sweet dreams, Feyre darling.” He replied. He had called her that before. It was surely to gently tease her, but she liked it.

Rhys started quietly humming a soft tune. She closed her eyes, and enjoyed feeling the low rumble emanating from his chest against her back. 

Sleep found them both quicker than they thought it would.


	12. Feelings

Rhys awoke in what must have been the early hours of the morning. His eyes hadn’t opened yet, but he felt the warmth of another person wrapped around his front. It took a moment for him to realise that the scent enveloping him was distinctly Feyre.

He had never met a person who seemed to understand him like she did. Last night, she had truly meant she was sorry when she found out about Larissa; she hadn’t just said it like his classmates had, out of obligation. Feyre had sympathised with him, and felt his pain, just when he thought nobody would be able to. She could have also just wrapped his arm up yesterday and left the splinters for the doctors to sort out, but she must have seen the pain in his eyes, and dealt with it as best as she could, even though he knew she hated the sight of blood from her expression. Rhys supposed that this compassion she always showed him made him fall for her more and more each passing day.

The only thing that pained him was that he couldn’t show her his affections. It was too soon after her experiences with Tamlin. He kept telling himself he needed to give her space to sort things out, especially after the misunderstanding they had, and he didn’t want to scare her off even more. It killed him, but he had kept a tight leash on his feelings for weeks now. All of these thoughts swirled in his head constantly.

But now, Rhys pulled away a millimeter so he could look down at the beautiful woman pressed against him. Feyre must have turned around in the night, and now had her face nestled into his shoulder. Her warm breath tickled his neck. Rhys studied her face. The freckles splattered across her cheeks and her peaceful expression made her look calm. Rhys had never seen her face like this awake. His head turned to see one of her arms wrapped around his waist and the other gently clutching the front of his jumper. Once again, their legs had become entangled, and his arms had encircled her gently, keeping her close through the night. Rhys could have lay there all day, just looking at this beautiful woman in his arms, but he argued with himself. His injured arm started to throb, and Feyre would be waking up soon, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate Rhys staring at her. This gave Rhys more than enough reason to move, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt intoxicated by her close presence, and wanted to be with Feyre just a little while longer. It felt  _right._

Rhys eventually just decided to close his eyes and try to fall back asleep. It was better than deciding whether to get up or not. He must have tried for ten minutes, but the flutter in his stomach wouldn’t go away.  _Mother above._ He thought. He had never been this nervous around any other woman before, and it unsettled him slightly. How had this woman come into his life and stolen his heart so quickly?

Rhys felt Feyre’s small body stir against his. He kept his eyes closed until he knew she had definitely woken up, not wanting her to know that he had been staring at her like he had on the sofa after the movie night. Rhys slowly opened his eyes and looked back down to Feyre’s face, to see her staring right back at him with her grey-blue eyes. He could almost feel them piercing the facade he forced himself to keep up at all times. 

“Looks like we’re starting to make a habit out of ending up like this.” Rhys tried to say nonchalantly, gesturing to their entwined bodies, but it came out a bit too breathless for his liking.  _Gods, she was beautiful_. Feyre continued to look at him, and her lips curved into a shy smile. He couldn’t stop his eyes flickering to her mouth for a second, watching their movement. They stayed silent for a few more moments, watching each other in wonder. Rhys saw Feyre’s eyes flicker to his mouth, just like his had moments before to hers. Surely he must have been dreaming? 

But time slowed as Feyre leaned closer brought her mouth to his.

**********

Feyre awoke when Rhys had moved in his sleep. She decided not to open her eyes; she didn’t want to get out of bed just yet. His chest was warm, and she felt his steady heartbeat under her palm. Yesterday had exhausted the both of them, physically and emotionally, but they had both told each other things freely, and Feyre couldn’t help but like Rhys even more for it. They both understood each other, and she had never felt a connection like theirs with any other people in her life. The more time she spent with him, the more it felt right to be in his arms.

His scent of citrus and jasmine washed over her, and Feyre dozed for a couple of minutes, calmed by it. But Rhys stirred, and she loosely curled her hand into a fist in his jumper. She didn’t want him to go yet. She finally admitted to herself she wanted to stay with him, and maybe if he felt comfortable with it, build their relationship more. 

 _But what if he just flirts with everyone like that? You’re nothing special._ A nasty voice said in the back of her mind. She told it to shut up. Feyre would let herself enjoy at least one thing in her miserable life, even if she could only think about it at the moment. But then she started to think about the odd looks he had given her the past few days. She was sure that his gaze had followed the movement of her mouth once or twice. And yesterday, when he had carried her to the threshold of the cabin, had the odd look on his face actually meant something?

A minute or two after Rhys had stirred, Feyre forced herself to open her eyes. She couldn’t pretend to be asleep forever. She looked up at him. His inky black hair was tousled, and his perfect eyes were bleary from sleep, but she watched them brighten as he looked down at their entangled limbs.  _Stop it Feyre, he’s just waking up. Stop thinking that look means anything._ But then his eyes made their way up to her face, and she blushed at the thought of being caught staring at him. But Feyre didn’t look away from those deep blue eyes. Now that she was so close, she noticed hints of violet swirling through them, and she itched to pick up her paintbrushes in the other room, but she wouldn’t move from his firm but gentle embrace. They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other.  _Gods, he was beautiful._

“Looks like we’re starting to make a habit out of ending up like this.” Rhys said, breaking the silence. Feyre didn’t fail to notice his breathlessness and the nerves starting to show in his eyes. This surely meant he felt something for her, didn’t it? Especially when his eyes so obviously flickered to her lips when she smiled.

Feyre didn’t know what exactly she was doing when she pressed her lips to his; it just felt like instinct. Her body was flush against his, and she slowly added pressure to the kiss.

But Rhys wasn’t kissing her back. He was frozen.

Cauldron damn her. She hadn’t read the situation right, and now she had positively ruined their relationship forever. Now Feyre realised; after the things Rhys said about Amarantha yesterday, maybe he would have wanted her to at least ask him instead of forcing herself upon him. Shit. Shit.  _Shit._  She cringed back out of the kiss at the thought of her making Rhys distressed.

“I-I’m so sorry Rhys I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable I’m so sorry please forgive me-” The words tumbled out of Feyre’s mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes. She had messed things up. Again.

But then Rhys surprised her when he stopped her mumbling by pulling her back to him and sealing their lips in another kiss.

**********

Rhys had been frozen in place from the shock of it.  _Was this really reality?_  He never imagined the possibility of Feyre liking him like this, and now that her soft lips were touching his, he couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

That was, until she pulled away, with hurt in her expression and tears starting to form in her eyes.  _No, no, no._ She must have thought his hesitation meant he didn’t want her to kiss him. He scolded himself subconsciously for letting her think that, but all he could think about was her lips on his. His restraint cracked when he stopped Feyre from apologising and pressed a kiss against her lips. 

 _Mother above._ This woman would kill him.

**********

Fire flowed through Feyre’s veins when his lips touched hers again. Was she dreaming? She felt the overwhelming need to be closer to him, even though they were already crushed together.  _This felt right._ His eyes fluttered shut, and his eyelashes tickled her cheeks. Her hand trailed up from his waist and her fingers laced themselves in the locks of his tousled hair. Doing this seemed to unleash him, as he kissed her harder, and cupped her face with one of his hands _._  Feyre would be content to stay like this for eternity, just kissing this beautiful, caring, understanding man, wrapped up in his arms.

He moved away from her mouth and started to pepper small kisses over her neck and ears, leaving her tilting her head back to give him access. The sensation raced up and down her spine. She rolled over slightly by accident. Laying straight onto his injured arm. He halted his trail down her throat and winced involuntarily.

“Sorry!” Feyre’s voice came out in a gasp, missing the feeling of Rhys near her as he retracted his hand.

“It’s alright. That was a nice way to start off the day.” Rhys smirked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “We need to get packed up and get going anyway, I suppose.”

They both peeled themselves away from each other reluctantly, and were immediately met with the cold embrace of the winter air instead of the warmth of each other. They shivered, and started to retrieve their spare things from the living room. Rhys picked up Feyre’s paint palettes.

“We’ll have to come back here again so you can actually use these.” He said, passing them to her.

“I’d love to, just as long as we don’t come back in winter again and freeze our asses off.”

“Ah, but I wouldn’t have had that lovely wake up call this morning if it hadn’t been so cold last night.” Rhys laughed.

“Prick.” Feyre said, letting humour into her tone. She wasn’t too sure where the kiss had left them both, but she knew that she had enjoyed it, and admitted to herself that she would like it to happen again.

**********

The walk back down the mountain was quiet, but Rhys didn’t scout ahead this time. Instead, he held Feyre’s hand the whole way, slowing his pace down for her shorter legs.

**********

After a long drive home and lots of concealed wincing from using his arm, Rhys was exhausted. Feyre had called Mor when the phone gained a signal and told her they were coming back early. They arrived at the gates, and he spotted Mor, Cassian and Azriel’s cars already parked outside.

They were waiting for Rhys and Feyre inside, already digging into his biscuit stash.

“Oh look, Feyre! The medics have already arrived for my oh so poor and injured arm!” Rhys said. “Really guys, it’s not that bad. We only came down to get it checked. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow. Feyre already took the splinters out. ” He couldn’t help turning his head towards Feyre then, the love that had only grown stronger since that morning probably plastered across his face when he looked at her. Thankfully, she didn’t see his expression, because she was barely stifling a laugh, watching Cassian stuff three biscuits in his mouth at once.

It took a minute for Cassian to eat the biscuits in his mouth. “Stop being so full of yourself, Rhys. We aren’t here for you; we’re here for your biscuits, you idiot.” He stuffed another biscuit in his mouth saying this.

“Get out! Take the biscuits if you must,but we need rest!” He shouted, laughter falling into his voice, but true exhaustion weighing down his whole body.

To their credit, they got up and started to walk out. Feyre made her way upstairs, but Rhys watched his friends leave, and he heard Azriel’s low voice mutter to Mor and Cassian.

“You did see that soppy grin Rhys gave Feyre just then, didn’t you? They definitely kissed.” Azriel said. 

With a grumble, Mor and Cassian pulled money out of their pockets and handed it to Azriel.

Rhys chuckled at his friends, closed the door and headed upstairs.


	13. Nightmares

Feyre was exhausted by the short excursion up and down the mountain, but she couldn’t help grinning like an idiot when she thought about one specific thing that happened up there. That kiss… when had the Cauldron been so kind to her before? It had been an effort not to kiss him again for the rest of the journey down. But where did that leave them both? While she was pretty sure that Rhys was happy about what had happened, she thought maybe they should at least discuss their feelings with each other before they carried on with whatever they had together.

Feyre plodded up the stairs until she reached the top. One end of the corridor lead to Rhys’ room, and the other end had her room. She paused for a moment, wondering which direction to go, but she pushed the kiss out of her head and made her way to her room, cursing herself for even thinking that already. While there was obvious attraction, Rhys might not want things to move so quickly. She would respect that.

Completely drained, Feyre dropped her backpack in the corner of the room and flopped onto the soft mattress. She realised her injured arm was caught underneath her body, but for once, it didn’t hurt. She’d lost track of the time she had been here, but she must have been here long enough for her arm to mostly heal. Perhaps she could get it checked out with the doctor tomorrow when Rhys went in for his arm as well. Her eyes fought to keep open, but the bed was too inviting. She didn’t even bother to take off her coat as the tension disappeared from her limbs and she fell into a deep sleep.

**********

The invisible presence was following Feyre again. It had grown more distant over the last couple of weeks, but when Rhys wasn’t there, it had returned in her dreams, with a vengeance. Tonight, Feyre was walking through a black void. There was nothing but Feyre, the presence and the dark. She had been through enough of these dreams to know that the presence would soon turn into something she didn’t want to see, and she needed to get away as soon as possible. Feyre forced her feet to move, and found there was some sort of invisible floor to run across. She propelled herself forward, trying to put as much distance between the malevolence starting to fill the space around her. It didn’t matter how quick she ran, but the presence was catching up with her. Feyre started to panic. There was no safety in this emptiness. She had nowhere to hide.

A chill snaked down her spine as the presence shifted into the form of a strong hand, and grabbed her by her free flowing hair. She was choked by the overpowering scent of roses invading the space in her lungs, and another hand wrapping itself around her neck. The rest of the dark that had filled the space shifted into the rest of the hulking form of Tamlin. The hand clamping down on her throat forced her to turn around, and stare into those green eyes. Those eyes that she had once loved. There was nothing but hatred swirling in the pools of green as he lifted her by the throat, a snarl forming on his lips. Her mouth gaped open, trying to suck in air, but the pressure of his hand on her throat refused to let her breathe. She couldn’t breathe she couldn’t breathe she couldn’t breathe.

Her legs flailed, trying to connect with Tamlin to get him to release her, but it was useless.

“You will never get away from me. I will always find you. You’re mine.” Tamlin hissed. His grip tightened, and the black void around them started to claim her vision. She wanted out. Anything was better than this. Tears slid down Feyre’s cheeks as she let the darkness claim her.

**********

Feyre jerked up from her position on the bed, looking around wildly for the man who still had hands clamped around her throat. It took a second to see the door in the corner of the room, which wouldn’t be open if she was trapped in that gilded cage Tamlin called a house. The emerald ring she had taken off weeks ago now resided in her bedside drawer. She wasn’t trapped anymore. This thought stopped her rushing to the toilet, like she did most nights, but the iron grip was still wrapped around her neck, so she hopped off the bed and walked out of the room, aiming to get rid of the tension in her limbs. She was about to make her way down the stairs and into the gardens to get fresh air, but she heard a noise coming from down the other end of the hall. It was from Rhys’ room. It was the middle of the night, and she supposed if Rhys was up then she should see why. But as Feyre neared his door, she heard… a whimper? She knocked on the door softly.

“Rhys? Are you okay?” Feyre murmured, and there was no answer but a small cry and movement behind the door. She nudged the door open, and saw Rhys’ figure moving on the bed. His arms were outstretched, almost like he was trying to reach for something. He was dreaming, Feyre realised as she neared him. She looked to his face, but his flawless features were scrunched and contorted into pain. She wasn’t prepared for him to cry out with such despair.

“Feyre!” Rhys twisted and became tangled in the sheets. She needed to get him out of his nightmare. He couldn’t suffer like her.

She gently took hold of his bare shoulders and shook him. He didn’t respond. 

“Rhys. Rhysand! Wake up!” Feyre kept shaking his shoulders, her movements becoming more rushed. He was starting to sob. She shook him harder. “Rhys, please! It’s Feyre. You’re okay. Please wake up.” She kept repeating these words, hoping he would hear her.

Then, his eyes snapped open, anger and despair coursing through them. Before she knew what had happened, Feyre was flipped onto the bed, and pinned by a hand at her throat. She was still able to breathe, and she let out a small gasp. She was too stunned to process what had happened until seconds after, when Rhys had looked down at his hand, and recoiled in disgust at what he had just done to her. They were both breathing hard, Rhys shaking on one side of the bed and Feyre coming to her senses on the other.

It had been too close to the dream she had just escaped from. She knew that it was a reflex after his nightmare, and he certainly hadn’t meant to do it, but she couldn’t help the unease coiling in her belly. Rhys looked up at her face and must have seen some panic in her eyes, because a tear ran down his face as he took ragged breaths.

“Cauldron Feyre, I acted just like him. I’m so sorry, Feyre, I’m so sorry.” Rhys said, voice wavering, repulsed by the idea.

But Rhys wasn’t Tamlin. He hadn’t hurt her, even when he was fully panicking. If it was Tamlin, he would have knocked her senseless already.

Feyre leaned over to place a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to calm to her touch, breathing becoming more even. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, leaving them both time to settle.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Rhys let out a slow breath. “Um… yeah, okay. Would you like me to put some pants on first, though?” The corners of his mouth tugged up.

Well, at least his sense of humour is still intact. Feyre thought. Wait… Mother above. She hadn’t even realised that he was fully undressed; he was still tangled in the sheets from the waist down. She didn’t dare let herself stare for longer than a second.

“Cauldron, Rhys! Yes! Have you ever thought about having a fire alarm in the middle of the night?”

It earned her a low chuckle from Rhys as he rose from the bed and she turned to give him some privacy. “Well, you definitely must be. How have you not boiled to death?”

It was only then when Feyre looked down at herself. She remembered she hadn’t even bothered to change before she collapsed onto her bed, and she had only bothered to take off her thick winter coat. Her scarf was still wrapped around her neck, and she was still wearing two woolly jumpers. Now that he mentioned it, she was quite hot. She chucked the scarf and jumpers at the end of the bed, leaving her in a thin t-shirt and leggings. 

She found it easy to joke with him, and he made her feel more relaxed. She didn’t trust herself to turn around casually while Rhys got changed though, so waited facing away from him until he was ready.

The atmosphere became more tense again when Rhys sat down, now clothed in some shorts and a black t-shirt. 

“You said my name…” Feyre said, prompting him to speak after a few seconds of silence.

“I dreamed about you… and Tamlin, and Amarantha.” Rhys started. “It was just like that day with Larissa at the river. I was on one side, and you were being held on the other by Tamlin… being hurt. I could only get to you by going around the river, because I couldn’t get across straight. So I ran all the way around, but I got there just as Amarantha pulled a knife…” He trailed off, but Feyre could imagine what had happened in his dream by the horror swirling in his eyes.

“How many times have you had this dream, Rhys?” This couldn’t have just been a one-off; it was too detailed.

“Ever since you became part of our family.”

She had known them all for weeks now. Why had he not told anyone about this?

“You can come talk to me about anything, Rhys. It’s not a problem.”

“I just didn’t want you to be freaked out about me dreaming of you when we still barely know each other. I mean, after yesterday up at the cabin… Did you mean it, Feyre?” His eyes were full of restrained longing. 

“Yeah, of course I did. It was sudden for me as well, but I meant that kiss, Rhys.” Feyre said, and to make sure she got her point across, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t go any further. But Rhys pulled her body back towards him and cradled her with his arms. Her head buried into his chest, and his face nestled into her hair.

“And why were you up so late?” Rhys murmured, as if he only just remembered the time.

Feyre hesitated. “I had a dream too. About Tamlin.” Rhys started to speak, but she assured him. “Don’t worry, I’m fine now.”

Rhys relaxed. His warm breath tickled Feyre’s head, and she held onto him just a little bit tighter around the middle.

After a while, Rhys broke the silence. “Would you stay with me?” He almost whispered, as if he was forbidden to ask.

Feyre answered by tilting her head up and pressing another small kiss to his cheek. Rhys smiled brightly, pulled back the covers on the bed and climbed in. She slipped in and pulled herself closer to Rhys. 

“I always feel safer when I’m with you. Ever since the first night I met you, you’ve been there for me. And even though we only met a few weeks ago, it feels like we’ve known each other for years.” Feyre found herself saying to him. It was true, even though it had only registered in her brain a few seconds after she said it. When she looked at him, all rational thoughts disappeared from her head.

“You never cease to amaze me, Feyre darling.” Rhys said breathlessly, eyes wide.

And there they were again, entranced by one another. Rhys’ hair was tousled, and his eyes were still wide as he beheld her. She felt her cheeks redden under his gaze. He smiled, and gently tugged her even closer, cradling the back of her head with his hand, and his bandaged hand rested on her side. Even though they had already slept in each other’s company a few times now, Feyre couldn’t help but notice the pleasant heat starting to warm her body wherever he touched her. Why did she feel like this, though? She had been engaged to Tamlin only weeks ago. What did that make her? She couldn’t keep the thought out of her mind, so she concentrated on the small tune Rhys was humming again. She had heard it up in the cabin. His voice was low and lovely, resonating from his chest.

“Where is that from, that song?”

“My mother used to sing it to me when I was a child to help me sleep. She used to tell the legends of the Illyrians, who supposedly lived up in the mountains where we stayed. The legend says they were mighty warriors who had bat-like wings. My mother’s family have lived here for generations, and she used to tell us how we had descended from the Illyrians. She told us this song was one they sang at the camps.” Rhys said wistfully, seemingly lost in his memories.

“It’s beautiful.” Feyre said. “Tell me about the Illyrians.”

Rhys smiled, and began to tell her about the winged warriors, and the rites and customs. She smiled to herself, happy that he felt comfortable enough to share things from his memories like this. She eventually fell asleep, wrapped in his gentle embrace, listening to the deep voice calming her. She had no nightmares that night.

**********

Feyre woke up early, like she usually did. Rhys’ arms were still encircling her, and she enjoyed the warmth that radiated from him. He was shirtless, and his tattoos peeked out over the duvet. The whorls of black on his chest mesmerized her. Her hands longed for a paintbrush to capture the marks that stood out from his tan skin. She could get used to this, she thought. It felt right.

Feyre spent a couple of minutes deciding whether or not to go back to sleep, as she watched Rhys breathe steadily. She peeked over his shoulder to see the time, and saw that the clock read 7:37am. She grumbled, and decided to get up. Feyre gently wriggled out of his embrace so not to wake him, and grabbed some socks to warm her feet against the cold floor. 

She was making her way down the stairs, when she heard a hard rap on the front door. It must be Mor or Cassian, if they are coming around this early. It must be important, she thought. She was still rubbing her eyes as she opened the door. But as the winter air hit her face and her eyes opened, Feyre did not see Mor or Cassian.

She saw Ianthe.

And Tamlin.

“Hey, Fey! Haven’t seen you in a while! Why didn’t you tell us where you went?” Ianthe said in a sickly sweet voice, but there was unveiled hatred glinting in her eyes.

Air whooshed out of her chest, and her body felt like it was crumpling. She couldn’t breathe. No. No. No. This was another nightmare; it had to be.

Tamlin stepped into the doorway, blocking out the light with his hulking frame. “It’s a good job we thought to check here after you and Ianthe came here for that party.” All these weeks, they had been hunting her down. And now they were coming to take her away. “You haven’t been in the right mind, Feyre. You need to come back with us.” Feyre was frozen to the spot. Tamlin used this to his advantage, and grabbed her uninjured arm with enough pressure to bruise. Feyre winced, and it brought her out of her trance. 

She dug her heels into the floor as much as she could, but her socks provided no traction against the smooth flooring. Before he could drag her out of the door completely, her fingertips latched onto the doorframe. Her arm barked in pain, still not fully healed in its cast.

“RHYS!” Feyre screamed into the house, hoping he would hear. She prayed to the Mother with all her heart that Rhys would wake up. She did everything she could to gain some extra seconds for help. Her broken arm was crying out in agony, but she pulled hard enough with adrenaline-fueled strength to get the rest of her fingers in the door frame.

That was when she heard crashing coming from up the stairs. Ianthe, who had just been watching in wicked delight until this point, also heard the commotion and launched into action, prying her fingers off the door, one by one. Feyre kicked and yanked with all her might, but neither would let go. 

Just as her last finger lost contact with the door, she saw a blur pass her, and barrel straight into Tamlin. Tamlin lost grip of Feyre, and she was free. She looked around back to Ianthe, but she had already disappeared, running back down the drive, frightened off by the fury now pinning Tamlin to the icy ground. Several roars that didn’t sound entirely from this world rang out, and Rhys’ fists collided with Tamlin in any place he could reach. By the time it took for Feyre to catch her breath from calling for help, Tamlin’s face was a bloody mess. He looked like he was about to pass out. She didn’t want it to stop just yet, but she forced herself to walk to Rhys and gently press a hand to his shoulder.

He halted immediately, and turned around to see Feyre, utter rage and wildness swirling in his eyes. He understood her silent request to stop punching him. With lethal precision, Rhys whipped back around to Tamlin, and gripped Tamlin’s throat hard. In a way, it morbidly pleased Feyre to see her nightmares the other way around.

Rhys leaned close to Tamlin’s ear, and pronounced each syllable slowly, Tamlin turning bluer by the second. “If you try to find Feyre again; if you make your friends keep tabs on her for you; if you even so much as see her on the other side of the street and try to talk to her… I. Will. Kill. You. You have gotten off very lucky today, and you had better make use of the head start I am going to give you to get the hell off my grounds. You have one minute.” And with that, Rhys let go. Tamlin gasped for air, and rolled over onto his side to push himself up. 

“You can take Lucien. He is no use to me anymore, and he is a traitor.” Tamlin spat at them both before getting to his feet and turning away. Only then did Feyre realise that there was another hunched figure on the ground further down the drive. She gasped. Mother above, Lucien. What had he suffered through these past few weeks from Tamlin’s rages, because of her? She should have gone back to help him, or at least contact him. 

She sprinted down the drive, Rhys hot on her heels. Tamlin was instantly forgotten. Feyre could already see a darker shade of red staining Lucien’s hair. 

“Lucien!” She cried. He groaned in response, and rolled over onto his back, the effort clearly costing him a lot of energy. Bruises were already blooming on his face, and his already scarred eye was starting to seal shut, much like Tamlin’s face would soon be doing after Rhys punching it.

“We need to get him inside.” Rhys said, the fury starting to slowly dissipate.

They both slung one of Lucien’s arms over their shoulders and carried him inside to the sofa in the living room. He winced every time any part of his body moved, and his eye squeezed shut in pain.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. I was trying to stop him. I’ve been trying to stop him for weeks, but he just… snapped.” Lucien groaned.

“It’s fine, Luce. You just need some rest for now.” Feyre replied. This was all her fault.

“Stay here as long as you like, Lucien.” Rhys offered.

“Thank you.” Is all he could manage before the pain overwhelmed him. He lay back, and fell asleep within seconds.

After Lucien fell asleep, they both left and went to the kitchen. Rhys’ fists were clenching and unclenching, like he still felt like he had a grip on Tamlin’s throat.

“Are you alright, Feyre?” Rhys asked, quietly.

Strangely, Feyre didn’t find herself shaking. It might have been the anger still coursing through her veins, but she wasn’t scared. Instead, her thoughts went elsewhere. “Is that dress that I wore to the party back from Andromache’s?”

**********

An hour later, Rhys and Feyre were stood outside the back of the house. Rhys had found a large metal bin in his garage, and had rolled it outside. Feyre had retrieved the monstrosity of the dress and the emerald engagement ring from upstairs, and had placed them in the container. Rhys had then poured some petrol over the fabric, and now they were standing there, Feyre with a match in her hand. Pure rage-fuelled determination had taken over.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rhys asked, even though he already knew the answer. Feyre lit the match, and flicked it into the bin. She hadn’t hesitated. She wanted to let go of the worst months of her life, and this was the first step to doing that. A weight lifted off her shoulders as she watched the flimsy material light up immediately.

“We should call the police, you know. Tamlin must have crossed a lot of lines doing what he’s just done.” Rhys said as they stared at the flames, growing higher.

“No. I don’t want to get involved in any legal stuff with him, because I would have to see him again.” Feyre replied, watching the gold band slowly start to melt in the heat. “Cassian’s a personal trainer, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Once I get this Cauldron-damned cast off my arm, I want him to teach me some self defense.”


	14. Winter Solstice

One, two. One, two. One, two. Feyre may have only had her cast taken off a week ago, but Cassian didn’t show her any mercy each morning with their lessons.

“Quicker.” Cassian ordered.

She groaned. Her arms already felt like jelly; she didn’t think she would be able to go any quicker, but she tried in vain. It was pointless to try, as her arms refused to go any faster with their lazy jabs to Cassian’s hands. He told her that they needed to build up her muscles at least a little bit first for her to stand a chance of getting anywhere with the self defense classes.

Eventually, Cassian dropped his hands, and Feyre almost cried out in relief. He told her to go and get some water, and she slumped down onto the bench. She wanted to improve, but her arms had become so weak after being with Tamlin for so long and doing nothing. But Feyre knew she had to keep going. She swore to herself that she would never become as useless as she had been that day a few weeks ago ever again.

As much as it pained her to say it with her arms practically falling off, Feyre said, “Maybe I should get a membership here to work on my arms outside these lessons?”

“That would be a good idea! I’ll go and grab the forms, while you have a rest. We’ll start up again in ten minutes.” Cassian flashed her a grin, and walked out of the room.

Feyre sighed. She was exhausted, and she was angry because she was like this because of sitting at boring dinner parties for months and listening and plastering smiles on her face. How pointless it all was, looking back at it now. She snorted, and stretched her arms, willing some energy back into them. There was a long thin scar running down the length of her right arm from where the bone had broken through her skin.

While the reminder of what she had been through and survived gave her a small sense of pride, with it came a wave of rage, because she shouldn’t have had to suffer like that for so long-

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door sounded. Feyre looked up, but didn’t see Cassian. A woman walked past her, flashing a dazzling smile, and throwing her red hair behind her. Feyre smiled back, and got up to refill her water. She finished filling her bottle, and turned to find the woman waiting behind her, also holding her bottle. She smiled again.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before! What are you doing?” The woman asked. Feyre was taken aback slightly by the forwardness, but recovered quickly. The woman only wanted to be polite.

“I only just started coming a week ago, and I’ve got a personal trainer. How about you?”

“I usually just stay in the gym and work on my legs, but really half the time I come to look out for hot guys.” The woman laughed, and Feyre couldn’t help laughing herself.

“Well I suppose it is as good of a reason as any! I know a few hot guys.” Feyre found herself saying, thinking about one man in particular. Why had she just said that? It was weird for her to be gossiping about people to strangers.

“Ooh!” She cooed, “Have you been on a date? What’s his name? I might know him!”

“He’s called Rhys. We haven’t been on a date yet but I’m pretty sure we like each other a lot.” She smiled thinking about his beautiful deep blue eyes staring into hers. But why was she telling her so much? She was like a giggling schoolgirl!

Something different glinted in the woman’s eyes now, but it vanished after a second. She flipped her red hair behind her again. “Oh, I think I know about him.” She said. “From what I’ve heard though, he has a reputation for leading girls on… just be careful.”

Did those rumours from Rhys’ school days still haunt him now? Did he know that people said this about him? Feyre decided wouldn’t tell Rhys about this for now.

But she decided to just agree with the woman at the moment. Besides, she might be talking about other girls he’d been with.

“I will do, thank you. I’m Feyre, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Feyre! I have to go now, and go to check out some more hot guys!” The woman smiled and walked off after Feyre said goodbye.

As soon as the woman disappeared around the corner, Cassian opened the door, holding a couple of sheets and a pen.

Feyre filled the sheet out absentmindedly, and realised the woman hadn’t given her name.

**********

The days passed quickly, and Feyre found herself on the Main Street with Mor, shopping for Christmas gifts. With only four days left, Feyre was starting to worry about getting everyone something, but her worries were taken away by Mor cracking jokes and the overall festive atmosphere. 

After a few hours of dashing in and out of every shop on the street, they decided to pay a visit to the launderette. The smell of washed linen hit them as they entered, and the usual soft “Hello.” from behind the counter greeted them. 

Mor walked in three steps, and promptly dumped the mountain of bags she had on her arms into the middle of the shop. She ran around the counter, and enveloped Andromache in a tight hug.

“Andi! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

After a moment, Andromache returned the hug. “Mor, it has been three days.”

The pair only seemed to remember Feyre was there in that moment, and sprang away from each other. She suspected there was something more between them, but Feyre didn’t want to push if Mor hadn’t already told her. She still found it amusing to watch the usually confident, bubbly Morrigan turn a dark shade of pink. Mor quickly recovered though, and walked back behind the counter.

“Well… are you doing anything tonight?” Mor asked sheepishly.

“I wasn’t planning on anything, I was going to close up early.”

“Oh! Would you like to come to Rhys’ house tonight? We’re–” Mor cut herself off abruptly.

“We aren’t doing anything tonight.” Feyre said, confused.

Mor stumbled on her words. “I… um… I just thought it would be nice to have Andi around.”

“Oh of course!” Feyre said, but was still confused as to why tonight specifically. They had had another movie night a few days ago she could have come to.

Andromache smiled at them and agreed. They waited for her to close up the launderette, and they all started to walk back to the house. Mor and Andi chatted to each other the whole way back, which amused Feyre even more. She noticed the playful shove Andromache gave Mor when she teased her, and the lingering eye contact that contained something more than just friendship. 

The three of them reached the gates, and there were no lights on in the house. What is going on? Feyre was getting more and more suspicious by the minute, while Mor was practically bouncing up and down by the time they reached the door. 

Feyre opened the door and walked in, the other two trailing behind her. Suddenly, lights winked on.

“SURPRISE!”

Feyre yelped and jolted, and hit a familiar wall of muscle.

“Happy birthday, Feyre Darling.” Rhys purred.

A grin split her face. “How did you find out it was my birthday?”

“I saw the date of birth on your gym membership form. I told Rhys and Mor, and left them to sort this out.” Cassian smiled.

“I wish you told us earlier, Feyre! I would have organised a better cake!” Mor pouted.

Feyre couldn’t stop smiling. She put down her bags an hugged them all. Even Amren, who froze a little at all of the sudden intimacy. Cassian poured her a drink and they all sat down on the couches and chatted. 

While Feyre itched to sit closer to Rhys, she took a seat next to Lucien. After taking Lucien to the hospital when they found him beaten up on the drive, he had been staying at the house and healing slowly. The group tried to be polite, but it was obvious he was the outsider. He stayed quiet for most of the night, but that didn’t stop Feyre from trying to include him in the conversation.

Feyre also noticed Mor glancing at her watch every few minutes while talking to Andromache. She must have looked for the fifth or sixth time when the doorbell sounded. Who has she invited now? Feyre wondered. Everyone seemed to be asking themselves the same question as Mor sprang to her feet and ran to the door.

What Feyre didn’t expect, however, was hearing the cold voice of her older sister at the door.

“Are you Mor?” Asked Nesta.

“Erm, yes!” Mor replied, slightly put off by Nesta’s icy tone. “You must be Nesta. Are you Elain?”

Elain is here too? Why have they finally decided to find me?

Mor lead them into the living room, and the whole room went silent as Nesta fixed Feyre with a hard glare. Elain appeared behind Nesta, smiling nervously. Feyre supposed it was her cue to get up and hug them both. It felt so odd to see her sisters. She reached for Elain first, who seemed genuinely happy to see her. The she was about to hug Nesta, until she hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

Feyre sat down awkwardly, still in silence. Nesta placed herself in the very corner, and Elain took the remaining seat next to Azriel.

Rhys broke the heavy silence. “So Elain, what do you do?” 

“Oh, I own a florists on the other side of town!” And the talking started up again, if still a little tense. Feyre sat for a few minutes, then turned back to Lucien, to find him gazing at Elain. She couldn’t tell what the stare contained because he noticed Feyre out of the corner of his eye and turned back towards her. 

The night carried on, until Cassian insisted they should start eating. While everyone was picking up plates, Mor pulled Feyre to the side.

“Feyre, I’m so sorry for inviting your sisters. You don’t talk about them much so I should have realised you don’t get on well with them.” Mor whispered.

“It’s okay. It says something with them just showing up. I haven’t seen them since they left for university and started their own lives. How did you find them, anyway?”

“I searched through a lot of social media.” Mor laughed nervously. “ I just hoped maybe we could reconnect you all to each other, but that obviously isn’t a good idea.”

“Thank you for trying to do that for me.” Feyre replied. It may not have been the best idea, but she truly appreciated the effort Mor had put in to this evening at such short notice. 

Dinner was quiet. Elain had sat next to Azriel again and they were absorbed into their own conversation. Feyre caught Lucien glancing at her sister a few times, but he never said anything to her. Nesta sat silently, never once looking up from her plate. She hadn’t changed since Feyre last saw her, and she wasn’t too surprised at her attitude as the evening wore on.

“Presents!” Mor announced. Feyre’s brow rose. She hadn’t expected a party, much less gifts.

From Mor: the fluffy grey jumper Feyre had been eyeing for weeks. From Amren: a simple black sketchbook, pefect for watercolours. From Azriel: A set of paintbrushes she had been meaning to buy herself when she saved up for them. From Cassian: a personalised gym towel and water bottle that she would definitely be needing in a few days time. From Lucien: a book on art history to reference when she needed inspiration. From Elain: a locket with a picture of their family together from when they were younger. She was grateful for all of the gifts, and hugged them all in turn. 

Feyre was marvelling at her presents when Mor and Cassian found the whisky in the cabinet and started a drinking game. Everyone gathered around, cheering them on. It soon became evident that Cassian was sorely losing soon after they started. It wasn’t long before Azriel decided to take him home to stop him from getting alcohol poisoning. Mor and Andi cheered, and mocked Cassian as Azriel put his boots on him and dragged him out of the door.

The group started to dissipate after that, with Andi insisting she had work early the next morning. Mor left shortly after. Soon, it was just Feyre, Rhys, Lucien, Elain and Nesta.

“I’m so glad we’ve met up, Feyre! Can we keep in touch?” Elain asked as she walked out of the door with her sister.

“Yeah, of course!”

“I’ll have to get everyone else’s contact too; I’ve had a lovely night! Do you have Az’s contact?” The not so subtle hint as to what Elain was feeling made Lucien’s warm smile falter slightly.

Nesta snorted. “Don’t pretend everything is suddenly okay just because we’ve come to this party. Why do you suddenly want us back in your life, Feyre? What do you want from us?”

Rhys started to growl, but Feyre cut them both off before they could start a full blown argument on the doorstep. “I don’t think this is my fault, but I’m not discussing it tonight. Goodnight, Nesta.”

Nesta stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before storming off down the drive. Elain looked back at them apologetically, and set off after Nesta.

Rhys shut the door, and turned to Feyre. “Well, isn’t Nesta lovely?”

“I don’t know what happened to us all.” Replied Feyre sadly.

Lucien chuckled slightly. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to bed.” He trudged up the stairs to the spare room, leaving Rhys and Feyre in the hallway.

“You know, I’m actually quite disappointed that you haven’t asked about my present to you, Feyre.”

“I wasn’t really expecting any presents, to be honest.” 

“Don’t be silly Feyre, we weren’t just going to ignore your birthday! It’s not exactly a present… but I thought you might still enjoy going to do it…”

“Are you going to keep being cryptic, or will you tell me what it is?” Feyre laughed.

“Grab your coat and your paints, I’ll get everything else.”

**********

Fifteen minutes later, Feyre and Rhys were in the car. It was dark, and the ground was covered in a few feet of snow, but there they were, heading deeper into the woods. Rhys turned off the road and into the trees.

“Rhys, how do you even know where you are going?” 

“I’ve been here a few times before, so I thought I would share it with you.”

“You do realise this feels like a horror movie situation right now?”

Rhys chuckled. He stopped the car a few seconds later. “We’re here!”

In front of them was a clearing and a hill in the trees. The snow had been untouched, and beyond the hill, the stars lit the cloudless sky up on a blue-purple canvas. Feyre stared at the scenery in front of her in wonder. 

“It’s beautiful.” Feyre whispered in awe.

“Come on.” Rhys murmured to her, almost as if he was unwilling to disturb the tranquility of the clearing.

She picked up her watercolours, new sketchbook and paintbrushes, and crunched through the snow to the centre of the space, and Rhys lay down a blanket to sit on. He also retrieved two flasks of hot chocolate and a lamp.

“I thought that I would share this with you, because I know you love to paint, and the sky here is always so clear.” Was there nervousness in Rhys’ voice?

“Rhys, I don’t know what to say…” The sheer beauty of the place was enough to take her breath away. Truly, Feyre had never cared much for jewelry, especially when Tamlin bought her new pieces every week to say sorry for anything and everything. This was different. Rhys had put thought into what he thought she would really enjoy, and that meant more to her than anything else.

But Rhys must have thought that her lack of words was disappointment.

“I’m sorry, I can get you something else or we can do something different-”

“Rhys, this is perfect.”

“Really?” 

“Really. Thank you, Rhys.”

He heaved a sigh of relief, and sat closer to Feyre. He handed her a flask, and they sat there for a few minutes, just staring at the glowing canopy above their heads.

“How did you find this place?” Feyre asked.

“After everything that happened with Tamlin, I felt lost… so I just used to take really long walks. I found this place, and the sky just gave a sense of peace after weeks of feeling nothing but guilt. I thought that after the past few weeks, you might need this place as much as I did.”

Feyre leaned over and rested her head on Rhys’ shoulder. “It is lovely, especially with you here.” Did she just say that? Feyre internally cringed.

Rhys blushed. “I was thinking the same.” He chuckled.

The winter air breezed past them, and Feyre leaned closer into Rhys. She grabbed her sketchbook and paints and opened to a new page. Rhys smiled as he watched her swirl the violet, indigo, deep blues and black across the paper, creating a beautiful replica of the sky in front of them. Feyre added speckles of white and turned the hill into a black silhouette of three mountains. 

“Rhys, I need a model.” Feyre said.

“You’re looking for me to strip naked in these temperatures?”

She laughed and pointed for him to stand on top of the hill. He crunched through the snow until he stood at the top, bundled in his thick coat. But Feyre had a specific image in her mind.

“Rhys!” She called. “You need to take off your coat!”

“You do realise I was joking about nude modeling?!”

“Stop being such a baby! It will only be for a couple of minutes!” Feyre replied.

Rhys reluctantly chucked his coat to the side and stood there bravely, bare arms already starting to shake with cold.

Feyre painted his outline as quickly as she could while adding in as many details as she could onto his silhouette. She added the wings sprouting from his back she had imagined and shouted up to him, “Okay! You can come back down!”

“Thank the Mother!” Rhys snatched his coat and wrapped it around himself. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at him grumbling as he headed down from the hill. She added the last finishing touches as he reached her, and she closed the book.

“I’m getting in the car if you don’t mind, otherwise I think I will get hypothermia.” Rhys shivered, and headed off out of the clearing.

Feyre smiled again, gathered up the things they had brought and followed Rhys.

She found Rhys huddled up in the boot. He was a shaking bundle of blankets with a face. Feyre climbed in the back next to him.

“You’re being so overdramatic.” 

“I am not. I thought I was going to die from cold on top of that hill.” Rhys replied. “Something I would do for only you, Feyre Darling.”

Feyre snorted. “Prick.” 

She wrapped her arms around him, and almost immediately, his teeth stopped chattering. He smirked at her.

“I think your body warmth is doing the trick.”

Feyre returned the arrogant smirk with an innocent smile. “Well you’ll have to take those blankets off you to see.”

His smirk turned feline as he unwrapped himself from the heaps of material. Feyre slid her coat off, and slowly slid into Rhys’ lap. She laced her arms around his neck, and tucked her head into his shoulder, letting her warm breath heat his skin. He let out a small huff at the sudden close contact.

“I think I was right. You’ve warmed me up.” Rhys said, slightly breathless.

Feyre pressed a soft kiss to the space between his shoulder and his neck. 

“Do you forgive me then?” She asked, daring to trail one hand further up, into his hair. 

“Of course. Always, Feyre Darling.” He replied, as he returned a kiss to the shell of her ear. Feyre shivered, and turned her head to capture his lips with hers. He deepened the kiss and his hands found her waist. Pleasure zinged through her at every point of contact, and suddenly, there was too much material between them. She wanted to be closer to Rhys. Feyre let one hand tousle his hair, and moved the other to leave a feather-light trail down his arm, then down his chest. 

“Rhys.” She murmured as her hand found the hem of his shirt, and slid underneath, feeling the strong muscles on his stomach. He groaned, and the sound freed something in Feyre. She lifted his shirt over his head, and pushed him across the seats. But then Rhys rolled them over, so Feyre was looking up into those beautiful deep blue eyes, that were almost identical to the sky she had painted that night. His hands felt along her sides, and she arched her back slightly, willing him to take more.

“What do you want, Feyre?” Rhys ground out, restraint evident in every muscle of his tensed body.

“I want you, Rhys.” Feyre whispered, breathless. She traced the beautiful tattoos across his chest. She would paint those markings one day. They were etched into her brain.

“Are you sure?” He was giving her one last chance to back out if she wanted to, and she knew that he would respect her if she said so. But she wanted him. Now.

“Rhysand.” She pulled his shoulders closer and pressed another kiss to his lips. It was answer enough for Rhys. His features darkened, and he became the image of all-powerful, unyielding night. His gaze turned almost predatory, and Rhys unleashed himself upon Feyre.

**********

Feyre and Rhys had been laying there for an hour or two, wrapped in each other’s embrace. She ran her fingers across his chest absentmindedly, and stared at his exquisite features, not quite believing what had just happened. Her body still felt like it was thrumming from the aftermath of what Rhys had done to her.

“Can I see what you painted?” Rhys asked quietly.

Feyre nodded and reached for the sketchbook that had been discarded behind her head. She opened it to the first page, to show the mesmerising sky she had captured perfectly. In the foreground lay the silhouettes of three mountains, and a man stood atop of the tallest mountain in the middle, his marvelous wings spread out on display. Three bright stars also hung above the mountain, completing the painting.

“Feyre, this is stunning.” Rhys said, eyes bright with awe. 

“You told me about the Illyrians a few nights ago, and I had wanted to paint them. I just needed the right background. I want to give it to you.”

Rhys’ fingers twirled in her hair as he turned his head to her, eyes bright. “Thank you, Feyre.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into his touch.

“Tell me more stories about them.” Feyre said, as she closed her eyes, and buried her face into his chest and breathed in his sea and citrus scent. The scent that had started to become home.

Rhys obliged, and Feyre fell asleep peacefully soon after that. Neither of them woke once that night.


	15. Workout

The air still had a winter chill as Rhys and Feyre drove down towards the gym. The drive was quiet, with Feyre just enjoying Rhys’ presence. It had been a week or so since her birthday, but she still couldn’t stop thinking about that night. 

 

What she and Rhys had done… something similar may have happened when they went to the cabin if they had carried on, but they had taken a big step. Perhaps too quickly. She was sure about never seeing Tamlin again, but it had still only been a few weeks. What did that make her? She had enjoyed it, but had Rhys? While he had seemed to enjoy it then, he hadn’t really said much about that night since, apart from saying that he would hang her painting in his room. Was he just shy? Or did he regret it? Feyre’s mind wandered to what Rhys had said about when he was in high school. What Amarantha had done was fleeting, but the consequences had changed his life. If she had involuntarily opened old wounds… But then would he have smirked at her the other day when he caught her staring at him a moment too long? This confusing whirlwind of thoughts had tormented Feyre for days.

 

Feyre was pulled out of her reverie when the car pulled to a halt outside of the gym.

“So Darling, are we starting with the exercises Cassian set you, or would you like to do some work by yourself?” Rhys asked with his signature smirk. Always giving her the choice. He had offered to help her outside of her self-defence lessons, and she had agreed immediately, to get both experience and more of a chance to talk to him without being interrupted.

“Why don’t we start together?”

“It would be my pleasure, Darling. Meet me by the punching bags in 10 minutes?”

 

Feyre may have taken slightly longer than usual to fix her hair before she met Rhys 15 minutes later. She walked towards the punching bags where Rhys was already warming up. The stretches he was doing made his muscles practically ripple, and Feyre got a great view of those stark black swirls disappearing under his shirt. She couldn’t help but stare for a moment. He turned, and gave her a lazy grin. He had caught her staring, and she knew it.

“You’re late.” He purred.

“Prick.” She grumbled with a small smile as Rhys chuckled.

“I was thinking we could start you on the bags to warm up, then we can practice what Cassian has been doing with you?”

Feyre nodded, and positioned herself. After leaving her practice for a few days, the first few punches already started to hurt her knuckles, as Rhys stood there for a moment, observing her stance. 

 

He moved behind her, and placed his hand on her shoulder, indicating her to stop. He put his hand on her other shoulder and gently brought her body to face the bag diagonally. Even this small touch made Feyre’s body warm. She was a bit breathless when he moved his hands to her abdomen and shifted her stance further. Any contact that was made with her skin sent little sparks down her nerves, as he took her arms and positioned them. Feyre could feel a blush start to creep up her cheeks as she realised how close their faces were when Rhys looked down at the position of her hands. If she reached up slightly with those hands, she could tousle his hair- no, she couldn’t. 

 

“Try now.” Rhys murmured, eyes fixed on her steadily reddening face. Feyre threw another punch, and it already felt much better. Her healed arm didn’t feel like shards of bone were going to reverberate loose anymore, and her stance felt much more sturdy. 

“Perfect.” He smiled at her. “I’ll start warming up too, and we can start together in a few minutes.”

Rhys went to the punching bag next to Feyre, and started an unrelenting pace of punches that Feyre look like she was playing pat-a-cake. He had an injured arm, how did he manage?  Despite this, she carried on punching her bag as much as she could, taking a few seconds to shake out her arms. 

 

Her mind, however, was focused on different things. She had let him help her so she could also have a chance to ask him about what was happening between them. The real question was how she was going to bring it up without being awkward about it. 

 

Before she could think of a way, Rhys motioned to her to come over to him. She tried to imitate the same position Rhys had put her in before as he held his hands up, covered with pads.

“One-two punches, right? You ready?” Rhys asked.

Feyre smiled, and began her exercise. Being with him felt so natural. She didn’t have to worry about doing something wrong, because she knew he would help her without judging. For a couple of minutes, they were quiet, the only sound being Feyre’s fists connecting with material. While she was worrying about what to say to him, Rhys surprised her by talking first.

 

“You’ve been quiet for a few days, Feyre, what’s wrong?”

She hesitated, thinking. “It’s just… You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want, but we haven’t really talked about what happened on my birthday… you didn’t really say much about it, so I don’t know how you feel.” Feyre said, trailing off. “I mean, I enjoyed it, but if you didn’t I’ll respect it and won’t bring it up again and-”

Rhys let loose a relieved laugh. “Darling, is that what it’s about? I’m sorry, I should have said something, I think I might have just been nervous. I haven’t moved this quickly with someone before- not that I mind, of course- but I was just afraid that perhaps we got carried away. But I don’t regret it if you don’t. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner one night, before we… go further? Only if you’re comfortable with it, Darling.”

 

The sudden proposal Rhys had given had surprised Feyre. She hadn’t seen this conversation ending well, but now he was asking her on a date. It couldn’t have turned out any better. Until she lost concentration on her punches, and her wrist started to relax-

 

Feyre’s right arm connected with Rhys’ hand at an odd angle, making the newly healed bone bark out in pain. She groaned and clutched her arm, Rhys already dropping his hands and rushing over.

 

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!”

Luckily, the pain was already starting to ebb away. “Yeah, I think I should be fine.” She replied, letting out a small laugh. “I’ll just sit down a minute.”

Rhys walked her over to the bench, and grabbed their bottles of water. She took the water bottle and took a long sip, letting the throbbing slowly fade away. Rhys watched her carefully. 

 

After a moment, Feyre looked back at Rhys.

“It would be lovely, thank you.” She said.

Rhys, still worrying over her arm, frowned, not understanding what she was saying.

“What day would you like to take me out?” Feyre said.

Instantly, Rhys brightened up, flashing her a beaming smile. “Friday night?” There’s a great place called Rita’s, if you’d like.”

“That sounds lovely, Rhys. Thank you.” Feyre smiled back at him. 

Rhys reached for her arm, his smile turning into a mischievous grin.

“Can I check to see if you’re okay?”

“If you must, Doctor Nox.” She chuckled, before handing him her arm.

He turned it over twice, pretending to closely examine her elbow and the scar that was left after the bone being reset. He leaned into her arm and pressed a soft kiss to the scar, before saying, “There, all better.” and letting her go.

“You’re so cheesy,” she laughed, and stood up.

“Perhaps we should leave your arms for the rest of today.”

“Good idea, I’ll head to the exercise bikes then. Where will you be?”

“I’ll probably stay over by the weights for a bit, but if you start to miss me, just call me over” Rhys said with a wink.

“Prick.” Feyre chuckled and nudged his side with her uninjured elbow. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

From where Feyre sat on the exercise bike, she had a good view of the rest of the gym. A mirror covered the wall in front of her, and she could see Rhys at the weights. She absentmindedly plugged in her headphones as her gaze rested on his toned form, adding weights to his bar. Feyre had a hard time tearing her eyes away from him, but she managed to find her playlist and start pedaling. She started to zone out as she fell into a rhythm, turning up the resistance slowly and taking a few sips of water. While Cassian thoroughly tired Feyre out every lesson, she had realised her stamina and strength had been building, even in her legs. She picked up her pace, willing herself not to slow down, and looked up into the mirror. 

 

Her eyes wandered for a moment, and fell on Rhys again. Only to find him staring at her. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and she gave him a grin before sticking her tongue out at him playfully. He started to laugh, but lost grip of the bar in his hands, letting it drop to the floor with a clattering thud. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that burst out at her when she saw the shocked Rhys looking down at the floor. He jogged over to her with a dazed smile. 

 

“Are you sure I can trust you training me? Looks like you need some practice too.” Feyre joked.

“You think you’re funny, do you Darling?” Mischief danced in Rhys’ eyes, and before she could process what he was doing, he picked up her water bottle and squeezed it, making water spray in her face. Feyre shrieked, and Rhys collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

“I might, but it was worth seeing that look on your face!” Rhys replied, still laughing. “I’m sorry Darling, I’ll go refill your bottle, and message Mor to tell her we’ll probably be back for lunch.” He gave her one last smile before he turned and walked out into the corridor to the water fountains.

 

Feyre sat back around on her seat, and grabbed her towel. She started to laugh quietly. In the time that she had known Rhys, they had had a couple of misunderstandings, but they had worked them out. He could make her laugh like nobody else could, and she felt like their connection had grown so strong. She had been so used to compromising for Tamlin during their arguments, she had almost forgotten what it was to communicate with someone properly. But she was recovering from him, physically and mentally, and she was determined to never let herself become so weak again.

 

She finished drying her face, and got ready to start pedaling again.

“Hello again, Feyre!” Came a voice from her left. Feyre turned, and saw the woman from a few weeks ago. Her red hair was flipped behind her again as she took a seat on the bike next to her. 

“Hi!” Feyre replied, unsure of what else to say.

“How’s your day been?” Why was this woman being so…  _ friendly _ towards her?

“Uh, it’s been better than I thought it would be, actually.” She smiled to herself again as she thought of the events this morning so far.

“Yeah? What’s happened?” The woman pushed.

“I may have just been asked on a date.” Feyre wasn’t quite sure why she was telling this to a stranger, but the woman seemed to charm her.

“Oh! Is this with Rhys?” She asked. “What did he say?”

“Well, it was my birthday the other week, and he took me to a clearing in the evening. It was beautiful, and we had a great night together… but after that we were quite quiet, so today he asked if I would like to go to Rita’s on Friday night, so we can clear things up and get to know him better.”

The woman fell silent for a moment, looking down. 

“I’m not sure if I should tell you this, Feyre, but I think if you’re thinking it could get serious between you two, I suppose I should.”

“What?”   
“You know how I warned you to be careful around him when we met?”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

“You haven’t heard this from me, but I’ve had friends who have been out on dates with him, only to find out that the night before he took another girl out to the exact same place, and taken it...further. I suppose those rumours that had spread around school back in the day were true.”

“Rhys told me about what happened with a girl called Amarantha, it wasn’t his fault. She forced herself on him. Is that what started the rumours?” Feyre couldn’t help her curiosity.

“It might’ve been, I can’t remember. But I knew Amarantha, and I’m sure she wasn’t lying about it being the other way around.”

 

It was Feyre’s turn to fall silent. It could make sense. She had already gravitated towards one untrustworthy man before; what’s to say that she wouldn’t do it again? And his undeniable beauty had surely not been missed by other girls, he could easily take his pick. What if she was his easiest choice? She was living with him, after all. Did she even deserve him?

 

_ But then, why am I trusting a stranger? _

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name the first time we met?” Asked Feyre, redirecting the conversation from the dangerous waters it was heading into.

The woman hesitated. “My friends call me Mara.” she offered a small smile.

“Well, thanks Mara. I’ll keep it in mind.” Feyre said.

“Just be careful, Feyre.” Mara replied. Suddenly, her phone buzzed, and she stopped pedaling.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this.” Mara said. “I’ll speak to you soon!”

She hopped off the bike and headed towards the changing rooms. Feyre watched as she headed around the corner, and she felt another presence behind her.

 

“Hey!” Rhys said, as he followed the direction of her gaze. She felt him freeze behind her. She turned back around to see his jaw set, eyes haunted.

“Hey,” she nudged him gently. “Are you okay? Rhys?”

As if shaking him from a dream, he startled. “Yeah, I… thought I saw… the hair…it doesn’t matter.” He trailed off.

“Are you sure? Do you want to come on the exercise bikes with me for a bit?”

His attention turned back to her, and a small smile reappeared on his face. “Yeah, sure.” He passed her water bottle back to her and sat on the recently vacated seat.

 

An evil grin took form on Feyre’s face as she took hold of the water bottle.

“Thanks for going to refill my bottle, Rhys. You might need to go back soon though.” 

Rhys was getting set up on the bike, and didn’t look towards the plot unfolding next to him.

“Why would that be, Feyre Darling? Am I going to make you hot and flustered by sitting next to you?”

“No,” Feyre replied. “It’s because of sweet, sweet revenge.” 

 

She proceeded to pour the contents of her bottle over the top of Rhys’ head, cackling. His mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as he hunched over, water dripping down his face and shoulders. 

“Is your life goal to just make me freeze to death?”

“Oh come on, it’s not as cold as the hill!” Feyre said, trying to regain her breath from her laughter.

“We’ll get kicked out at this rate.” Rhys grumbled, as he reached for his towel.

“We might, but it was worth seeing the look on your face!” She threw his words back in his face.

“Cruel, beautiful woman.”

 

**********

_ Phone Call _

 

“Tamlin.”

“How long are you going to take? You’re taking too long.”

“Did nobody ever teach you about patience, Tamlin? Also, I need to gain her trust, which takes time. When you get Feyre back, you might want to think about that.”

“Don’t patronise me.”

“Don’t be so ignorant then. I’m getting something out of this too, and I’m not going to let an impatient boy stop me.”

“Don’t call me a  _ boy, you- _ ”

“Be careful how you talk to me, Tamlin, otherwise the deal is off. I can get what I want in much more…  _ creative  _ ways.”

“ _ No! _ No… I’m sorry. Tell me if there’s anything you need, and keep me updated.”

“Goodbye,Tamlin.” 


End file.
